


You Don't Get Scars From Being Hurt in Dreams

by fangirlscribbles



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, lawyer AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 18:42:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3579912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlscribbles/pseuds/fangirlscribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>25-year-old criminal defense attorney Ian Gallagher works at his father's Northside law firm, and just recently won his first case. One day, a young woman named Mandy Milkovich bursts into his office, claiming that her brother has been falsely framed for murder and wants Ian to take the case and prove her brother's innocence. Ian agrees to take the case, still riding the high from his last success and thinking a murder case sounds very exciting.</p>
<p>But is Mickey Milkovich really innocent, or has Ian bitten off more than he can chew?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **IMPORTANT NOTE**  
>  I didn't intend to accurately depict the US justice system, so please don't think this is actually how it works. This includes Ian's education (where I took some liberties and made it up).  
> I have based most of it on How To Get Away With Murder and parts of Shameless.
> 
> More tags and such will probably be added as the story progresses. Rating might change as well.
> 
> Huge thanks to [Alex](http://grumpyvich.tumblr.com/) for being my beta for this story!! <33

Defense attorney Ian Gallagher was having a pretty great day. It was early May, the sun was out, and he’d won his first case. Or, well. His first very own case. He’d won several with his father, but this last case, man… There was nothing quite like the feeling of winning a case as big as this all on his own.  
  
Maybe getting laid last night also had something to do with his good mood.  
  
So he was smiling as he bit into his 10.30 sandwich, which he ate religiously almost every day, and dive into the pile of paperwork his father had told him to go through. It wasn’t exactly a fun task, but nothing could bring Ian down right now.  
  
Except maybe the sudden yelling from the lobby, which was moving towards his office. _Uh-oh_. Ian could already feel the annoyance starting to bubble in his stomach. His father wasn’t in the office today, which meant Ian would have to deal with this, no matter what it was about.  
  
A second later, the door to Ian’s office was opened so violently it banged against the wall, revealing a girl, or maybe a young woman. Ian winced, hoping it didn’t leave a mark. He quite liked his office, thank you. His younger brother, Jacob, stood behind her, looking unsure of if he should do something and offering Ian an apologetic half-smile.  
  
“You Gallagher?” the girl in the doorframe asked. She was quite short, with long, dark hair and a nose ring. She had bangs, which would be cute on anyone else but managed to look fierce on her. “Ian Gallagher? The one who won that big drug case a few weeks ago?”  
  
Sighing, Ian put down his sandwich again and leaned back in his chair. “That depends on who’s asking,” he said, waving away his brother.  
  
“Mandy Milkovich,” she said, and stepped right into Ian’s office as if she belonged there.  
  
Ian wondered briefly if she was Southside. He’d learned during his many visits to his half siblings that it was a very Southside trait, being able to barge in and make yourself at home wherever you went. They always looked weirdly at him when he knocked instead of just walking in, for example.  
  
He was just about to ask her why she was there, but she beat him to it.  
  
“I have a case for you.” She sat down in the chair on the other side of Ian’s desk, meeting his eyes with a piercing gaze. “My brother has been framed for murder, and I need you to prove he’s innocent.”  
  
_Oh_. Ian had intended to politely decline whatever offer she had for him, maybe refer her to his dad, but this sounded interesting. A murder? An innocent boy who had been framed for it? His sister acting like her brother’s knight in shining armor and making sure he got a decent lawyer? Yeah, Ian could get behind this.  
  
“How old are you?” Ian asked, and Mandy frowned. She seemed a little taken-aback, which Ian supposed he could understand. Perhaps being asked about her age wasn’t what she had expected, coming here.  
  
Nonetheless, she replied, “same age as you, asshole,” and Ian’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. He’d thought she was younger than him. “And my brother is twenty-seven, in case that’s your next question.”  
  
“It wasn’t,” Ian smiled at her, “but thanks for the info. Now, tell me again why you want me to take this case?”  
  
It looked like it physically hurt her to not roll her eyes.  
  
“ _Because_ ,” she enunciated slowly, as if she was talking to a small child, “my brother hasn’t murdered anyone – and he might be an asshole, but I don’t want him rotting away in jail, thanks.”  
  
Ian nodded and observed her face as he leaned forward, putting his chin on his hands. “Yes, I got as much from your initial outburst. Tell me more.”  
  
This time she did roll her eyes, heaving a sigh as he did.  
  
“Okay, so, you know about the murder of Callan Klein right? Yeah, anyway, I was just having breakfast this morning when suddenly I got a call about my brother being arrested for being his fucking murderer. Cops say they have enough evidence and Mickey – that’s my brother – will probably end up in prison. Only I know it can’t be Mickey, because Mickey would never kill anyone.”  
  
Ian did not, in fact, know about the murder of Callan Klein, but he nodded again nonetheless, and Mandy nodded as well, staring back at him. A moment later, she sighed and looked away.  
  
“Okay, Mickey’s done a lot of shit in his life – like, sell drugs and fuck up more than a few faces – and he seems like the kind of person who’d kill someone, but he’s not. He’s really a big softie.” She paused again. “And I know that means it’ll probably be difficult to prove his innocence, but that’s why I came to you. Someone who can keep a well-known Southside drug dealer out of jail can do anything, right?”  
  
Well, this was quite amusing, Ian thought, especially Mandy’s belief in him and his abilities. He also thought that this Mickey guy sounded like someone he needed to meet.  
  
“I’ll talk to my father, see what I can do,” Ian said then, leaning back in his chair again. “If he lets me take the case, I’ll do it.”  
  
Shock and relief crossed Mandy’s face. “Really?” she breathed, standing up from her chair. Ian smiled up at her. “You’ll do it? I don’t – I didn’t expect you to.”  
  
She paused for a moment, seeming a little embarrassed. “I don’t know how to pay you.”  
  
Ian waved a dismissive hand. “That’s okay, you’ll come up with something. You’re Southside, right?” She seemed surprised, but nodded confirmation nonetheless. “Well, you people are resourceful. I have family there, so I should know. Like I said, you’ll figure it out.”  
  
For a moment, Mandy seemed conflicted between being offended at the way Ian talked about the Southside and being thankful. Eventually, she settled on the latter.  
  
“Thank you, Mr. Gallagher.” Ian managed not to snort at that as she dug around in her purse. A moment later she resurfaced, with a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. She looked at Ian and didn’t even need to ask before he stretched a pencil out to her. She smiled in thanks and scribbled something on the paper before handing both that and the pen back to him. “My number. Call me when you know if you can take it or not.”  
  
Ian looked at the paper – _Mandy Milkovich, 786-478-4887_ – and then back up at Mandy.  
  
“You have my word, Ms. Milkovich.”  
  
She jerked at the name, and Ian guessed she wasn’t used to being addressed that way. God knew if anyone ever called Ian’s sister _Ms. Gallagher_ she’d probably be very weirded out. Actually, he would be too. He may not have known her his whole life, or grown up with her, but she’d always be just Fiona.  
  
“Great. Guess I’ll hear from you later.”  
  
Unable to help himself, Ian grinned. “Guess you will.”  
  
After she’d left, Jacob stuck his head through the door to Ian’s office. Honestly, Ian wasn’t surprised at all: Jacob was one of the nosiest people he knew – except Carl, perhaps.  
  
“Who was that?” Jacob asked, and Ian waved him in. It was just as well, Jacob wouldn’t give up before he’d wheedled the whole story out of Ian anyway.  
  
“Someone who wanted me to prove her brother’s innocence,” Ian started, feeling ridiculously satisfied when Jacob’s eyes lit up with curiosity and excitement. “Her name was Mandy Milkovich, and according to her, her brother Mickey has been framed for a murder he didn’t commit.”  
  
Jacob’s mouth dropped open a little. “Whoa.” Ian nodded, smiling a little in spite of himself. Impressing Jacob had always made him feel good about himself. “That’s… _really cool_.”  
  
Then Jacob seemed to remember that he was, in fact, 20 years old and supposedly an adult. He sat straighter in Ian’s visitor chair and ordered his facial features into a suitable – less excited – expression.  
  
“I mean. If you get this case, and you win… That’ll be really good for your career. And dad will be so proud!” he said, and Ian fought the urge to laugh.  
  
“Probably.”  
  
Nodding thoughtfully, Jacob hummed. “Mickey Milkovich, huh?” He paused, looking up at Ian. His eyes were shining with excitement again, even if it was suppressed. Ian admired his brother’s efforts. “Should I get on researching him?”  
  
This time Ian couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t even know if dad will let me take the case yet, Jacob,” he protested, even though he was still grinning. Jacob just grinned back at him.  
  
“But even if he won’t let you take the case and takes it for himself, we’ll still need research.”  
  
Well, Jacob did have a point. “Yeah, sure.” Ian waved a hand. “Research the shit out of this Mickey Milkovich.”  
  
Jacob practically bounced out of his chair, every thought of suppressing childish excitement seemingly gone from his body. The smile on his face was so wide Ian momentarily worried about his skin splitting.  
  
“Yessir!” Jacob playfully saluted his older brother and walked backwards out of the room, only turning when he got to the doorway. Ian watched him go with a fond expression, chuckling to himself and shaking his head.  
  
Despite his morning being interrupted in a less than pleasant way, perhaps this day wouldn’t be so bad after all.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. After the excitement of this morning, Ian felt like the hours until he got to go home were extra slow. He usually didn’t mind working in the office a whole day, especially if he was the oldest Gallagher there since that meant he was boss for the day.  
  
But today, Ian wanted to get home. He wanted to get home, so he could change into something more comfortable than the semi-formal clothes he wore to the office, and then go to his parents’ house and tell Clayton about his morning visitor and the case she wanted him to take.  
  
He’d probably take the opportunity to eat dinner with his parents as well, because he was a lazy fuck and he had no idea what he wanted to eat, nor any motivation to cook.  
  
He left the office at 4.30p.m and arrived at his parents’ house in Lakewood-Balmoral at 5.10, just in time for his mom – or, well, his adoptive mom – to come home as well.  
  
“Hey, Lucy,” Ian greeted her, smiling widely and coming over to hug her as she got out of her car. “I didn’t know you worked today?”  
  
Lucy was a kindergarten teacher, but she’d been more or less a housewife when Ian and Jacob grew up, only working when one of the regulars called in sick. She’d started working a bit more when her sons grew up and Ian moved out of the house – Jacob still lived at home, unable to find something befitting his tastes – but it was still only a few days a week.  
  
“Oh, I hadn’t planned to,” Lucy said, looking up at Ian with a warm expression on her face. She didn’t exactly treat Ian and Jacob the same way – which Ian could understand, knowing how he came to be – but she’d always loved Ian. “Annalise went home sick yesterday, so I said I could come in today. Have you come to steal our food again?”  
  
Ian laughed, toeing off his shoes and bending down to put them in the shoe rack to the side. At home, in his own apartment, he never bothered. But Lucy liked to keep the house as clean as possible, which meant shoes were taken off the minute you stepped a foot inside.  
  
“You know me too well,” Ian grinned at Lucy before he went up the stairs to try and find Jacob.  
  
Jacob was lounging on the bed on his room, laptop on his stomach as he read something on the screen. Ian grinned.  
  
“Still researching Milkovich?”  
  
Jacob jumped, obviously not having heard Ian approach, and almost dropped the laptop. He glare up at Ian, but Ian just shrugged and smiled back at him. Jacob rolled his eyes.  
  
“Sort of. His family, in general. They seem pretty… dangerous.”  
  
Ian crossed the room to Jacob’s desk, pulling it closer to the bed and sitting down on it. “Yeah? Well, I’m not surprised. His sister did say it would be difficult to prove his innocence.”  
  
A frown formed on Jacob’s face at Ian’s words, and Ian barely suppressed a sigh. Honestly, sometimes Jacob was too much like their father.  
  
“Are you sure you want the case?” Jacob asked, voice tentative.   
  
Yeah, Ian thought – Jacob was definitely too much like Clayton. Neither weak nor cowardly, but a bit hesitant and soft. Sometimes Ian wondered how Clayton could have become as successful a lawyer as he did, considering his personality – but then again, Clayton rarely showed those qualities in the courtroom.  
  
“Yes, I’m sure I want the case,” Ian said. “What happened to your excitement?”  
  
Jacob stared him dead in the eyes. “Reality,” he deadpanned.  
  
The brothers stared at each other for a moment before they both burst out laughing.  
  
“Well, I still hope dad’ll let me take the case,” Ian said when they calmed down. “I mean, it is really exciting, isn’t it? And I always loved a challenge.”  
  
“Yeah, but I mean…” Jacob paused, scratching his chin. “I looked into the suspect’s family, and his dad has a criminal record taller than you.”  
  
“That’s pretty tall,” Ian remarked and Jacob huffed out a half laugh, giving Ian a pointed look. “What about the actual suspect’s record? Mickey?”  
  
Jacob shrugged. “I mean, I got it, but I haven’t looked at it yet. Wouldn’t be surprised if it’s just as long, though.”  
  
The topic died out with Ian’s noncommittal hum, and the boys made small talk about whatever came to mind until Lucy called them down for dinner. It wasn’t until he caught sight of Clayton’s look of surprise that he realized he hadn’t actually said hello to his dad yet.  
  
“Ian! I didn’t know you were here,” Clayton said, smiling and clapping his son on the shoulder.  
  
Beside Ian, Jacob rolled his eyes. “Dad, the table is set for four,” he pointed out. Ian poked his side and Jacob sighed. “Fine, I’m sorry. Yes, Ian is here! Like every other day.”  
  
Clayton gave Jacob a look. “Ian doesn’t live here anymore,” he said, “even if he is here often.”  
  
Ian laughed. “Just here to eat your food,” he teased, and honestly he was glad he was too tall for Lucy to ruffle his hair like she used to when he was younger. He could see the urge there in her eyes, but he was having a good hair day, thank you very much.  
  
“Been living on your own for years, but still nearly eating us out of the house,” she said instead, sighing in a way that was supposed to be disappointed, but sounded more satisfied.  
  
They sat down at the table, settling into easy conversation as they ate. Or, well, Jacob, Clayton and Lucy did. Ian was thinking of the best way to convince Clayton to let him have this case.  
  
He decided to pounce when there was a slight lull in the conversation, putting down his fork and clearing his throat.  
  
“Clayton, I need to talk to you about something,” he said, internally wincing at the stiff way his voice came out. Oh well.  
  
Clayton looked over to him with a mildly surprised look, but nodded at Ian to say go on. Ian smiled slightly at him, trying to relax.  
  
“I got a visitor this morning, said her name was Mandy Milkovich,” he started, trying to force himself to hold Clayton’s gaze. “She said she had a case for me – according to her, her brother has been falsely accused of murder, and she wants me to prove his innocence.”  
  
The silence was heavy, but only mildly uncomfortable as Clayton observed Ian, slowly chewing the chicken in his mouth. Once he’d swallowed, he made a noncommittal sound and nodded.  
  
“You did well on your first case,” he said, no longer looking at Ian, “and even that was a case I wouldn’t have let you take if there weren’t special circumstances.”  
  
Ian wondered if those special circumstances were that he had family on the Southside and was more familiar with it than Clayton, or that Clayton was busy with other things. Probably a bit of both, Ian thought.  
  
“If you think you can handle it, I say go for it – but if I have any reason to believe you can’t handle it, I’ll take over. That is non-negotiable.”  
  
Ian stared at his father, barely able to believe it. He felt like a little kid again, being told they would go to Disney World for his birthday. The difference was that this time, he managed to hold back the ridiculous smile – and he felt the weight of responsibility settling into his shoulders. He couldn’t mess this up.  
  
“You mean it?” he breathed, and Clayton nodded. He was smiling, which made it harder for Ian to hold back his own grin. He’d save that for when he was back in his own apartment. “Thank you!”  
  
“No problem, son,” Clayton said, but then his face turned serious and he pointed at Ian with his fork. “Don’t screw it up. If you mess up this case, it might be the end of this law firm.”  
  
Ian met Clayton’s gaze, nodding seriously. “I won’t mess it up,” he promised, hoping he wouldn’t have to regret those words.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

If Ian played music ridiculously loud and screamed along to the lyrics in the car on the way home, no one needed to know. Ian was a professional lawyer, he did _not_ headbang to bubblegum pop in the car, thank you very much.  
  
When he got home, he threw himself on the couch as he picked up his phone and called Corey. Corey was a few years older than Ian, and they’d gone to law school together. At least for a few months, seeing as Ian had later been taught at his father’s law firm. Ian had thought Clayton was overdoing it, paying ridiculous amounts for Ian to be taught privately, but it was whatever. It made Ian a great defense attorney, if he could say so himself.  
  
“What’s up,” he said when Corey picked up after a few rings, and was greeted by a sigh. “Hey man, I’m sorry I couldn’t call until now. Shit happened.”  
  
There was nothing serious going on between Corey and Ian. They were good friends and had hooked up a few times, but it was nothing more than that – at least not on Ian’s part. He thought he’d seen something dangerously close to affection in Corey’s eyes a few times, but always chose to ignore it.  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Corey muttered back, and Ian thought he was probably rolling his eyes. “Exciting shit?”  
  
“Yeah, man.” Ian grinned widely, unable to help himself. “Got a really cool case.”  
  
Corey snorted. “Good for you.”  
  
Ian’s grin slid off his face, being replaced with a frown. Okay, so last night he had promised he’d call Corey as soon as he could – but this _was_ as soon as he could.  
  
“What’s up with you?” he asked, annoyed at his friend for ruining his good mood.  
  
There was a sigh on the other end. “Nothing,” Corey said, definitely not sounding like it was nothing. “Look, I’m just in a bad mood, okay? I got shit going on as well. I’ll call you later.”  
  
Before Ian could say anything, there was a click in his ear that told him Corey had hung up. Heaving a sigh of his own, Ian decided to let Corey deal with that stick up his ass on his own. Ian had better things to do – namely, call Mandy Milkovich and say he’d take the case.  
  
After five minutes of frantic searching around his apartment, Ian found the note with Mandy’s number on it and wasted no time dialing it. He sat back down on the couch as the dial tone rang in his ear once, twice, five times.  
  
A second later, Mandy’s voicemail was activated. “This is Mandy,” her recorded voice said, “record a message and I’ll get back to you when I feel like it.”  
  
Ian huffed, because it definitely seemed like her. “Hey, Mandy,” he said after the beep, because it felt better than Ms. Milkovich, “this is Ian Gallagher, the lawyer. I wanted to tell you I’ll take the case. Please call me back as soon as you can.”  
  
Once that was finished, Ian turned on the TV and went to get his laptop and a beer. He texted Jacob to email all the info he had on Milkovich so far to Ian ASAP and went about to do his own research on the case, the TV on in the background and occasionally stealing Ian’s attention for a few minutes.  
  
Before he knew it, it was midnight and he was being interrupted by the ringing of his phone. The display said Unknown, but Ian answered anyway. It was part of his profession, after all, getting calls from strangers.  
  
“Ian Gallagher speaking,” he said as he picked up, in that voice Lip had teased him about so much a few years back. He said it made Ian sound like some 50-year-old professor. Ian had just rolled his eyes and flipped him off.  
  
“Hi, uh, this is Mandy,” a soft, hesitant voice said on the other end, and Ian immediately sat up straighter. “Sorry I’m calling this late.”  
  
“That’s okay,” Ian hurried to assure her. “I was still up. Did you get my message?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah I did.” She sounded a little more relaxed now, but still unsure of herself. Ian wished he knew what to do so she’d feel comfortable talking to him. “So what happens now?”  
  
“What happens now is that I do research – on this case, and on your brother. I will also schedule a meeting with your brother as soon as possible, so we can get to know each other and I can walk him through this.”  
  
There was a pause. “Great, okay. Thank you so much, Mr. Gallagher.”  
  
Ian’s lips twitched into a grin despite himself. “Call me Ian.” There was something about Mandy that made Ian feel like she could be his friend.  
  
Mandy let out a small laugh, sudden and surprised. “Okay, Ian. Thanks.”  
  
“No problem.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

The next morning, Ian woke up at 6.30 for his usual morning jog around Seward Park. He had two texts from Corey on his phone, which he chose to ignore. Corey also called him once while he was on his run, but, well – Ian was on his run. He couldn’t run and talk on the phone. Especially not to someone who’d been an asshole to him the last time they spoke.  
  
He got back to his apartment just before 7 and downed his pills with a glass of orange juice before he set to making pancakes. While standing at the stove, he called the jail where Mickey was held to schedule a meeting.  
  
The person he spoke to did not seem happy about it. “Look, kid,” he said, sounding tired and like he’d prefer it if Ian just hung up, “are you sure you want to take this case? It’s pretty much a done deal that Milkovich has done it – you’re just wasting your time.”  
  
Ian sighed, biting his lip so he wouldn’t snap something rude at the guy. “I’m pretty sure I want to take this case, yes,” he said instead. “This is my job: I know what I’m doing.”  
  
“If you say so.” There was a sigh. “I’m just saying, you sound young. I’m sure you have better things to do than ruin your career because of some asshole.”  
  
Ian wanted to scream that he _wasn’t going to ruin his career_ , but he took a deep breath and swallowed it down.  
  
“Thank you for your concern, sir, but I’m sure I can handle it,” he forced out in a stiff, overly polite tone. “Now, when can I come to see my client?”  
  
Since Mickey’s arraignment would be at 4.30pm the same day, Ian had to cancel a meeting and cut off some office hours so he could be there on time. He wouldn’t have time to get to know Mickey like he wanted, but they’d have time for that after the arraignment.  
  
Once that was done, he allowed himself to have his breakfast in peace. Corey called him another time, but Ian ignored it again. He had too much on his mind to be able to be nice to anyone right now.  
  
He got ready, putting on his suit and getting into the car, and drove to the office on autopilot. His mind was on the arraignment later today, and as a result he nearly crashed into a stop light.  
  
Honestly, he was ridiculously excited to meet Mickey Milkovich, no matter how much of an asshole people kept insisting he was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey meet for the first time. It doesn't go quite like either of them expected to, but Ian isn't disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please excuse the chapter summary... you guys should let me know if you want me to keep putting them up or if I can skip them haha

Meeting Mickey Milkovich was an interesting experience. He was small, almost smaller than his sister, and his face was smeared with dirt. Ian wondered briefly where that came from, and how he’d managed to get it smeared across his face when stuck in jail, but decided that that was a question for some time when Mickey wasn’t about to stand in front of a judge.  
  
Mickey was leaning back in his chair, legs spread in the typical “tough guy” pose, and the look on his face was a mix of disinterested and mildly annoyed. His short, black hair was a total mess, and Ian thought it was probably as dirty as his face. Actually, he didn’t even want to think of it.  
  
When Mickey saw him, his eyebrows rose so high on his forehead they nearly melted into his hair. They looked a bit like the McDonald’s M, Ian thought, trying not to laugh.  
  
“Hello,” he said once he’d sat down, earning a nod from Mickey, “I’m Ian Gallagher, and I’m your lawyer.”  
  
Ian had thought it impossible, but Mickey’s eyebrows rose even higher on his forehead.  
  
“ _Gallagher_?” he said, and the name sounded almost like an expletive leaving his lips. “Are you fucking kiddin’ me?”  
  
His eyes were locked on Ian’s face, an intense blue shadowed by dark lashes. Maybe his look of disbelief wasn’t entirely out of place, Ian thought as he reminded himself that this guy was Southside. He probably knew who the Gallaghers were – a lot of people in the Southside did.  
  
“Yes, Gallagher,” Ian repeated. “Look, we can talk about that later. Right now, I want to talk about your arraignment.”  
  
Mickey rolled his eyes, looking away from Ian for a moment before he looked back at him. “What about it?”  
  
God, could anyone be more dismissive and disinterested? Ian thought he was starting to understand what Mandy had meant when she said this would be difficult.  
  
“Do you know how an arraignment works?”  
  
“Been to juvie twice, man,” Mickey said, sounding almost proud. “Of course I know how it works. I go in there, judge calls my name, I plead guilty and get this shit over with.”  
  
Ian sighed, resisting the urge to run a hand across his face. He settled for glaring at Mickey instead.  
  
“No,” he said slowly, “you do not plead guilty. When the judge calls your name, you say _not guilty_.”  
  
Mickey shifted in his seat, raising just one eyebrow at Ian now. Those were some impressive eyebrows, Ian had to give him credit for that.  
  
“Why should I do that? Evidence against me is overwhelming, I might as well just get this shit over with. Go to prison, serve my time, be done with it.”  
  
Ian stared. Was this guy for real?  
  
“Prison isn’t like juvie,” he said, hoping something of what he was saying would get through Mickey’s evidently thick skull. “Doing well in juvie does not mean you’ll do well in prison. And be done with your sentence? This isn’t a few years we’re talking about Mickey, it’s your _life_.”  
  
Lawyer and defendant stared at each other in stony silence for a minute, each of them refusing to give in. Ian raised his eyebrows just a little at Mickey, feeling triumphant when Mickey sighed and rolled his eyes.  
  
“Fine,” he muttered, “I’ll plead not fucking guilty.”  
  
Unable to help himself, Ian grinned widely at Mickey. “Great! Let’s go.”  
  
Ian thought he saw an odd expression flicker across Mickey’s face for a second, but otherwise there was no reaction from him.  
  
Even though Mickey had agreed to plead not guilty, Ian felt a little nervous. Mickey hadn’t promised he wouldn’t plead guilty, and even if he had, he didn’t seem like the type of guy to value promises to others over his own instincts.  
  
When the judge called Mickey’s name and case number, Ian felt like he could hardly breathe. His heart was going a mile a minute, eyes glued to Mickey as he stood up.  
  
“How do you plead, Mr. Milkovich?” the judge asked.  
  
Mickey held his head high, steadily meeting the judge’s gaze. He was a cocky little shit, Ian thought, and hoped it wouldn’t become too big of a problem when dealing with this case.  
  
“Not guilty,” Mickey said, loud and clear, and Ian’s whole body relaxed with relief.  
  
Well, he’d tackled the first obstacle – even if it was a small one.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Corey called him again when he was in the car on his way back to the office. Ian contemplated ignoring it, but eventually picked up – after having successfully tackled the first obstacle of this case, even if it was small, Ian was in a good mood.  
  
“Hey, I called you this morning,” was the first thing Corey said, and Ian thought that maybe picking up had been a bad idea. “You didn’t answer.”  
  
“Yeah, hey, sorry about that,” Ian said, hoping Corey would let it go. “You know I don’t answer calls when I jog, and then I had to get an appointment with my client before his arraignment.”  
  
“Oh, you got a client?” Corey asked, sounding genuinely curious, but also surprised. Ian suppressed a twinge of annoyance. It sounded like Corey was making an effort not to be as asshole-ish as last time, at least. “Exciting!”  
  
Ian couldn’t help himself. “Yeah, I told you exciting shit happened yesterday, remember?”  
  
Silence. “Right, right,” Corey said after a minute, “the case. I forgot.”  
  
“You sound like you have a lot on your mind,” Ian remarked, suddenly feeling a bit like an asshole himself. “What’s up?”  
  
“It’s nothing,” Corey insisted, and Ian bit back the comment of _it doesn’t seem like nothing_. Corey had obviously been testy these past few days, and Ian didn’t want another fight. “Can I come over later?”  
  
Ian mulled it over for a moment. He needed to read up more on this case, needed to schedule a more proper meeting with Mickey, needed to get this all in order. In between that, he needed to eat, take his meds and sleep. But then, Ian had always prided himself on being a good friend, and Corey sounded like he needed to talk to someone.  
  
“Sure,” he said after a moment. “What time did you have in mind?”  
  
“I have some stuff to do, but maybe around seven? Is seven-thirty fine for you?”  
  
Ian glanced at the clock on his wrist. It was 5.45pm now. He’d have enough time to get home, take a shower and start on dinner – or order takeout, depending on what he found in his fridge – before Corey would be there. Maybe he’d even have some time to work on his case, or call the jail and schedule a proper meeting with Mickey.  
  
“Seven-thirty is fine. See you then.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

When Ian got home, he took a shower and changed into something comfortable before he immersed himself in his case. He already knew the basics, obviously: Mickey was accused of being Callan Klein’s killer. He had been murdered execution style with a shot to the forehead – which, okay, did sort of feel like it would be Mickey’s style – and his body had been dismembered and dumped in various locations across the entire Southside. In the latest article, after Mickey’s arrest, the police seemed pretty sure they had the right guy. It made Ian sigh and seriously hope they were wrong.  
  
He also had the basics about Mickey Milkovich – Southside born and raised, a father who seemed quite neglecting, a mother who’d died when Mickey was eight. Drug overdose, which didn’t surprise Ian in the least. He just wondered if it had been intentional or not. He hoped for Mickey’s sake that it hadn’t.  
  
He shook his head. He needed to stay professional, keep his head in the game. Or work, in this case. Sympathizing was something that came easy to Ian, but when he worked he needed to keep his feelings out of it.  
  
There was nothing about it in his notes, but Ian wouldn’t be surprised if Mickey had also grown up with a bunch of siblings. He already knew about Mandy, and it seemed big families were sort of the Southside norm.  
  
Before he could dwell on it too much, his doorbell rang. Ian, having forgotten all about Corey and completely unprepared, jumped in fright. His heart was still beating slightly faster than usual when he opened the door for his friend, letting him in with a smile.  
  
“Jesus, you scared me,” he said, drawing a small chuckle from Corey. “I started looking over the case more closely and forgot you were coming by so I don’t have any food ready, I’m sorry. Order takeout?”  
  
Corey shrugged, making himself comfortable on Ian’s couch and glancing over at his laptop and the folder next to it.  
  
“Takeout is fine with me, as long as it’s pizza,” he answered, and Ian snorted. “What’s the case about anyway? You just said it was exciting.”  
  
“And I’m not going to tell you more,” Ian called, rummaging through a drawer in the kitchen to try and find the number to the pizza place. “What kind of pizza you want?”  
  
Corey just shrugged again when Ian popped his head into the living room, so Ian ordered a pepperoni pizza with extra cheese for both of them.  
  
“Pizza’ll be here in fifteen minutes or so,” Ian said as he plopped down next to Corey on the couch. Corey just hummed and nodded, a little absentmindedly. “You not hungry or something?”  
  
That got Corey’s attention, and he looked up at Ian with a small smile. The look on his eyes was still distant, and Ian frowned.  
  
“No, I’m hungry,” Corey assured, shaking his head. His smile widened a bit, but it looked like an effort. “Just have a lot on my mind.”  
  
It clicked in Ian’s mind, and he smirked at Corey. “I see, and you want me to distract you, huh?”  
  
A slight blush rose to Corey’s cheek, even if he grinned back salaciously and raised his eyebrows. “That is exactly what I want you to do,” he told Ian.  
  
Ian swallowed a laugh, but his efforts were futile as their flirting was interrupted by a loud growl from his stomach. He stared at Corey for a second, but then he really couldn’t hold his laughter in. Corey laughed with him, even if he didn’t seem quite as into it as Ian.  
  
“Food first,” Ian said when he could breathe again, “then I’ll distract you all you want.”  
  
The doorbell rang again and Ian got up from the couch, winking at Corey before he grabbed his money and went to answer the door.  
  
The pizza was devoured in less than ten minutes, even if Ian had ordered large ones for both him and Corey. Ian ended up eating some of Corey’s as well, since Corey only ate two thirds of his.  
  
“Jeez, can you even move after all that?” Corey asked, glancing at Ian where he was sprawled across the couch.  
  
Ian waved a hand, groaning a little. “Just give me a minute,” he said, but he was feeling quite drowsy.  
  
“Okay then, you glutton,” Corey teased, leaning forward to reach for the remote control on the coffee table. “I’ll just watch TV while you attempt to digest all that.”  
  
Ian was pretty sure that Corey gave him more than just a minute, because the next thing he knew he jerked awake because he was falling off the couch. Luckily, Corey caught him before he could bust his face on the edge of the coffee table and land on the floor.  
  
“Did I fall asleep?” Ian asked when he was lying safely on the couch again, words maybe a little slurred.  
  
Corey snorted, absently rubbing Ian’s stomach. “Yeah, you did.” Ian made a noise, which he at least intended to be apologetic. Corey seemed to get the hint. “It’s okay though, it was only for like fifteen minutes.”  
  
“Oh.” Ian sat up, rubbing at his eyes and yawning. Then he blinked, focusing his gaze on Corey. “Fuck now?”  
  
The way Corey choked on his next breath was very amusing.  
  
Corey ended up staying the night, which was less amusing. Ian would’ve made him leave, but he fell asleep in Ian’s bed and Ian didn’t have the heart to wake him. Besides, it wasn’t as if Ian’s bed wasn’t big enough for two.  
  
When he’d taken his meds and brushed his teeth, Ian looked at the man in his bed. Honestly, Corey wasn’t a bad guy. He was really nice, and a pretty good lay too. But did Ian want him to be a permanent thing in his life? No.  
  
However, having a nice guy in his bed for a night every now and then wasn’t so bad. With a small sigh, Ian crawled into bed next to Corey and got comfortable.  
  
Corey would be out the following morning anyway, whether he liked it or not.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Waking up next to someone was much harder than falling asleep next to them, Ian discovered when his alarm went off at 6.00 am and Corey almost hit him in the face.  
  
“Shut up,” Corey groaned and Ian rolled his eyes, nonetheless turning his alarm off. Someone had obviously not realized he wasn’t at home.  
  
As Ian got out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweatpants, Corey just groaned and rolled over. Picking up Corey’s jeans, Ian threw them at his head.  
  
“Get up. You have to make me breakfast while I go on my jog.”  
  
Corey rolled back to face Ian quickly, eyes wide open now. He stared at Ian for a moment before his eyes went back to normal size.  
  
“Oh. Right,” he mumbled.  
  
Ian raised his eyebrows. “Not a morning person?” he asked, going into the bathroom to brush his teeth.  
  
“Nope,” Corey called back. “What time is it anyway?”  
  
“Six,” Ian told him, spitting a mouthful of toothpaste foam in the sink. “I’ll probably be back from my jog at 6.45 or so. Have breakfast ready by then, yeah?”  
  
A minute later, he walked back into his bedroom and fixed Corey with a hard look. “Don’t use my toothbrush.”  
  
Corey just snorted and shook his head, which Ian took as his signal that it was okay to leave Corey alone for now. Nonetheless, he was still a little bit nervous about leaving his friend alone in his apartment as he went out for his jog.  
  
When Ian got back, Corey did have breakfast ready. Honestly, Ian was a little surprised. Considering the levels of non-morning-personness Corey had showed forty minutes earlier, Ian had barely dared hope Corey would be out of bed when he got back.  
  
As it was, Corey was out of bed, dressed and eating bacon and eggs. Ian grinned at him as he entered the kitchen and got a glass from the cupboard, filling it with orange juice.  
  
“What scared you out of bed?” he asked, downing half of his orange juice before he set the glass on the counter to go get his pills.  
  
Corey glared at him. “Nothing!” he protested around a mouthful of bacon.  
  
Even so, he seemed more relaxed and amicable today than he’d been yesterday. Ian counted it as a win. They even managed to have a nice, easygoing conversation while they ate their breakfast, before Ian kicked Corey out so he could shower and get ready for work in peace.  
  
It was almost 8.30 by the time Ian was on his way to work, and finally had time to call the Metropolitan Correctional Center and schedule another meeting with Mickey.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Later the same day, he was sitting in a small room at the MCC, looking at Mickey from across a table. Mickey looked cleaner now, but he still wore that unimpressed look on his face as he stared at Ian. The first thing Ian thought of when he took his seat was that orange was not a great color on Mickey, but he pushed it away so quickly he barely remembered thinking it.  
  
“Impeccable as always, I see,” Mickey said, nodding to Ian’s suit. He sounded a bit taunting and sarcastic.  
  
Ian shrugged. “I think of it more as a uniform,” he told Mickey, “sort of like your overalls.”  
  
Mickey raised his eyebrows in what Ian was already starting to think of as the Standard Mickey Face. “At least I look good in my overalls,” Mickey muttered.  
  
The words startled a laugh out of Ian. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t that. He shook his head, grinning at Mickey.  
  
“I’m sorry to say, but orange isn’t really your color.”  
  
Mickey huffed and rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything in reply, watching Ian get his stuff out from his bag. Really it was just a folder with some papers and Ian’s notebook in it and a water bottle. After a second’s thought, he took out another water bottle and pushed it towards Mickey, who looked at him in surprise but didn’t hesitate in taking it.  
  
“Are you going to ask me if I really did it, now?” Mickey asked after he’d taken a gulp of water. The way he looked at Ian was almost challenging.  
  
“No,” Ian said, and while Mickey hid his surprise at the word pretty well, he didn’t hide it well enough. Ian saw it clear as day. “If you want to tell me whether you did it or not, then go ahead. But I’m not going to ask you, or force you to tell me something – not at this point in time. At this stage, I mostly want to get to know you and the case a bit better so I can get a better idea of how I should work.”  
  
Mickey just stared, and Ian smirked at him. “Not what you expected?” he suggested, but Mickey just shrugged.  
  
Deciding that he should probably get to working, Ian opened his folder and took out his notebook. Debbie had given it to him when he won his first case – a gesture that surprised him a bit, but that he found very touching. He’d vowed to honor her generosity by using it diligently.  
  
He looked up from the flowery cover of the notebook when there was a choked noise from Mickey. His gaze was fixed on the notebook, eyes wide and expression disbelieving. Ian internally sighed; _here we go again…_  
  
“ _That’s_ your notebook?” Mickey asked, somehow making it sound more like a condescending statement than a question.  
  
This time, Ian sighed out loud. “Yes, that’s my notebook. My sister gave it to me and I quite like it, thank you very much.”  
  
“Which one?” Mickey asked, and Ian froze with his pen halfway to the paper. That was a question he hadn’t expected.  
  
“What do you mean, which one?” he asked in return, looking at Mickey curiously.  
  
“You forget I’m Southside, Red. I’m quite familiar with your family.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Not on a first-name basis, though,” Mickey hurried to add before Ian could say anything.  
  
“Yeah, didn’t expect so. But if you want to know so badly, it was my younger sister.” Mickey looked at him quizzically. “Also a redhead?”  
  
Understanding dawned on Mickey’s face. “Oh, the annoying one. I’ve come across her once or twice, she never shuts her mouth. Asks all kinds of questions, bossy as hell.”  
  
Well, it sounded like Debbie alright.  
  
“Yeah,” Ian agreed, nodding and twirling his pen between his fingers. “We’re not here to talk about my family though.”  
  
Mickey nodded, agreeing. “True,” he said, “we’re here to talk about the guy I supposedly murdered. Am I right?”  
  
Rolling his eyes, Ian said, “I was going to say that we’re here to talk about you, but that makes me sound like a shrink.”  
  
“Shrink, lawyer.” Mickey shrugged. “I see no difference.”  
  
Ian looked down at his notebook, writing _Starting to see what Mandy meant_ as the title on the page he had open.  
  
“You taking notes like a shrink, too?” Mickey asked, but Ian ignored him. He needed to keep this professional, he reminded himself. He wasn’t here to bicker with Mickey and talk to him like a friend. He was here to get to know Mickey, yes – but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t work at the same time, or this would just be wasted time.  
  
“Okay, first of all,” Ian said, looking up at Mickey again, “I need to know if you had an alibi for the murder.”  
  
Mickey looked at him weirdly, a bit as if Ian had suddenly turned green. Ian supposed he could understand him. Various members of Ian’s family had complained about his sudden attitude changes giving them whiplash, making him seem like an entirely different person.  
  
“I’m still not sure exactly what time the murder was committed, but I doubt I do,” Mickey said slowly, keeping his gaze locked on Ian’s. “I mean, otherwise I wouldn’t be in here, right?”  
  
Ian stared back at Mickey, raising his eyebrows a little. “They didn’t ask you about it?”  
  
“Nah.” Mickey shook his head. “Guess that means they have enough evidence, huh?”  
  
He grinned in a way Ian thought looked almost sad. It was well-hidden underneath a mask of contempt and amusement, but it was there.  
  
“Or they need a scapegoat and no one will care if a thug from the Southside gets convicted. That’s one more dangerous person off the streets nonetheless.”  
  
The grin slid off Mickey’s face and he looked at Ian with a frown instead.  
  
“Except you,” he said, and Ian blinked in confusion. “No one cares – except you.”  
  
Ian wasn’t sure if he should feel threatened or not when Mickey leaned across the table. Then again, Mickey was handcuffed to it, so he supposed not. There was also the fact that Mickey was tiny and Ian had had hand-to-hand combat training, so he wasn’t very worried.  
  
“Why do you care, Ian?” Mickey’s voice was low, his eyes dark. “Why do you care, when no one else gives a shit?”  
  
“Your sister cares,” Ian said, and realized a second later it may have been the wrong answer if he wanted to gain Mickey’s trust. It was just the first thing that had come to mind – when Mickey said _no one else gives a shit_ , he sounded so alone. Ian just wanted him to know that someone _did_ give a shit.  
  
“Mandy,” Mickey sneered, sitting back in his seat and glaring at Ian. “Yeah, she cares. She was the one who hired you, right?”  
  
“Yes,” Ian said, cautious now. He didn’t understand Mickey at all, which just made him determined to learn more about him.  
  
“You know she can’t pay you back, right?” Mickey asked. “She says she will, but she won’t be able to. Ever.”  
  
Ian shrugged a shoulder. “That’s okay,” he said. “That’s not the primary reason I took this case, anyway.”  
  
Again, Mickey looked at Ian as if he was insane. That was okay with Ian too; people had told him several times that he was crazy. He was quite used to it by now.  
  
“You’re a fuckin’ weirdo,” Mickey huffed, but for some reason Ian didn’t think it was meant as an insult. Then, changing the topic completely, he asked, “do you think there’s a chance they’ll let me go home? You know, before trial and sentencing or whatever.”  
  
Ian scrutinized him for a moment. “Maybe,” he said then. “Any particular reason you want to go home?”  
  
Suddenly Mickey was glaring at him again. “None of your fucking business,” he spat.  
  
Ian sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Then I can’t guarantee anything. I’ll talk to some people, see what I can do. Then we’ll just have to wait and see.”  
  
It was far from a promise, but Mickey seemed satisfied with that answer.  
  
When Ian left the MCC half an hour later, he’d written a few things on the page titled _Starting to understand what Mandy meant:  
  
Mickey is…_

  *          _Uncooperative_
  *          _Stubborn_
  *          _Private as hell/secretive_



At least he was pretty sure that was what he’d written. Ian was infamous in his family for his messy handwriting. At one point when Ian was writing, Mickey had suddenly leaned forward again.  
  
“Dude, can you even see what you’re writing?” he’d asked.  
  
Ian glared at him. “Of course I can,” he sniffed. Then he looked down at the page and squinted at the letters. “Or, well… mostly.”  
  
Mickey snorted in amusement. “And the rest you just guess, or what?”  
  
“Something like that,” Ian had muttered with a half-embarrassed shrug of the shoulder.  
  
All in all, Ian thought it was a successful meeting – and he was quite certain he needed to get to know Mickey better if they were going to manage to cooperate well enough to keep Mickey out of prison.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Ian had just gotten out of the shower when his phone rang. In his hurry to answer it – still only wearing a towel around his waist – he stubbed his toe on the threshold to his bedroom. Swearing up a storm, he stumbled towards his bed where he’d deposited his phone earlier.  
  
“Hey, Fiona,” he answered when he saw who it was, grimacing as he pressed the phone to his wet ear. “What’s up?”  
  
“Oh, nothing much,” she said. “Did you hear that one of the Milkoviches finally got arrested for something big?”  
  
“Yeah, Mickey,” Ian said, trying to pull on a pair of boxers one-handed, “I’m working on his case.”  
  
There was a brief pause, then a sigh. “Ian… I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”  
  
Ian laughed. “Everyone keeps saying that,” he said, rooting around his wardrobe for a pair of sweats and a t-shirt next. “Don’t worry, Fi, I know what I’m doing.”  
  
“I’m sure you do, but you know how I am – I just worry about everyone.”  
  
“That’s true,” Ian agreed. Even if he hadn’t grown up with Fiona, had never really lived with her and had known her for less than half his life, she cared about him as much as the siblings she’d raised.  
  
“So how’s my little brother doing?” she asked, changing the subject.  
  
Ian pulled on his sweatpants, decided to give up on the shirt for now, and went into the kitchen.  
  
“What, like right now?” he asked back, sticking his head into his worryingly empty fridge. “Right now I’m sort of really hungry. I had a long day.”  
  
Fiona laughed. “Get some food in you, then,” she said. “Am I bothering you? I can call later, if you need to make food.”  
  
“Nah, it’s fine,” Ian assured her. “I mean, it’s not like I have a lot of food… I can make, like, an omelet. With cheese, maybe? Is that a thing?”  
  
Fiona laughed harder. “Sure it is,” she said. “And I mean, if it wasn’t it would be if you made it.”  
  
“Great! Omelet with cheese it is.”  
  
He ended up talking to Fiona for nearly three hours, falling into easy conversation with her as he cooked and ate before giving her his full attention. They finally hung up as Fiona realized it was getting late, and if Ian had a case he probably had work to do before he went to bed.  
  
“It’s fine, Fiona,” Ian said, cutting through her apologies, “I mean, it’s only nine, it’s not that late. I probably won’t go to bed for a few hours anyway.”  
  
“Yeah, but I mean, you need to work, right? You have a case,” she insisted, and Ian rolled his eyes to himself.  
  
“Well, yes, but I still don’t mind you calling me. It’s nice to talk to you sometimes, you know? You’re my big sis,” he told her, and he could practically feel the delighted smile on her face all the way from the Southside to the Near North.  
  
“And I’ll try to talk to you more often. But for now, goodnight Ian!”  
  
Ian smiled. “Goodnight, Fiona.” Then he remembered something. “Oh, hey, tell Debbie her gift came in handy!”  
  
“Her gift?” Fiona asked, and Ian could picture the confused frown on her face.  
  
“She gave me a notebook after I won my first case. It came in handy today.”  
  
“Oh, okay. Yeah, I’ll make sure to pass it on!”  
  
“Great, thanks. Bye.”  
  
No matter how much Ian liked talking to her rather than working, Fiona was right; he did have stuff to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find Ian's "girly" notebook in my [lawyer au tag](http://cockslutovich.tumblr.com/tagged/lawyer-au) :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian gets some interesting news from Debbie, and learns something new about Mickey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so, this chapter is late for various reasons, i hope you're not too mad at me! but it's here now, so enjoy

When Ian went to bed last night, after spending a few hours trying to find arguments he could use in the first court hearing for Mickey’s case, he hadn’t expected today to be so… taxing. When he woke up, he was already in a bad mood. It was absolutely pissing with rain outside, which meant he couldn’t go for his morning jog. He ended up doing a few exercises inside, but it was far from as satisfying as his usual jog around Seward Park.   
  
He was interrupted by the doorbell halfway through his shower, and had to stumble out of the bathroom in just a towel to go and open the door. He was met by the surprised, and slightly embarrassed, faces of Debbie and Derek, her fiancé.  
  
“Oh, I didn’t think you’d be…” Debbie said, gesturing to Ian’s half-naked body with her hands, face red.  
  
Ian sighed. “It’s okay.” He ran a wet hand across his equally wet face and took a step back so they could come in. “What are you doing here so early anyway?”  
  
It was only just past seven in the morning after all, and from what Ian could remember of his Southside family, none of them were exactly morning people.  
  
“Oh, you know,” Debbie said, stepping out of her shoes and avoiding the wet puddles on the floor Ian had left after him as she ventured further into her brother’s apartment. “Fiona said you’d said something about my gift, and I remembered I haven’t seen you in ages, so I thought we could have a breakfast date. Because, you know, you’ll probably be busy for the rest of the day.”  
  
“Probably,” Ian agreed. “Let me finish my shower and I’ll make pancakes, okay?”  
  
When he got back out of the shower, Debbie and Derek were sitting in the kitchen, talking and laughing. When she caught sight of him, Debbie quieted.  
  
“I’m really sorry, Ian,” she said softly, but Ian just shook his head.  
  
“It’s okay, Debs,” he assured her as he started taking out the ingredients for pancakes. “It’s not your fault that I’m in a bad mood.”  
  
A mildly awkward silence settled in the kitchen as Ian started on his pancakes, and no one else seemed to be able to think of anything to say.  
  
“So,” said Debbie after a few minutes, “what’s on your schedule for today, Ian?”  
  
Ian turned around to face his sister and her fiancé, holding the bowl with the batter in his hands as he mixed it.  
  
He pulled up his mental list and started counting it off; “I need to talk to some people from MCC, see if I can get them to allow my client to go home in between court hearings. I also need to talk to the people from the police department who arrested him and work on the case, and I need to find arguments as to why he shouldn’t be convicted.”  
  
“Isn’t that hard?” Debbie asked, and Ian shrugged. “It sounds hard.”  
  
“Convincing the MCC people to let him go home will probably be hard,” he agreed. “The other stuff will hopefully be easier.”  
  
“The MCC people?” Derek asked, saying something to Ian for the first time since he and Debbie arrived.  
  
“The ones who work at the Metropolitan Correctional Center,” Ian explained. Deeming his pancake batter mixed enough, he turned back to the stove to start frying the actual pancakes.  
  
“I suppose you’ve been there a lot, working as a lawyer and all,” Derek continued.  
  
Ian just shrugged again. “Wouldn’t say a lot, but a few times, yeah.”  
  
“Fiona said you’re working Mickey Milkovich’s case,” Debbie said, and Ian almost groaned out loud. Would people never leave this alone? Yes, it would be difficult – he knew that already. He knew that before he even _thought_ about taking this case. Mandy had made it perfectly clear to him.  
  
He simply said, “yup,” and heaved a small sigh of relief when Debbie didn’t say anything, merely making a humming sound.  
  
“Mandy was always the closest to Mickey. I mean, she said he was just as much of an asshole as the rest of her brothers, but she does care about him.”  
  
“She does,” Ian agreed. “She was the one who wanted me to take the case.”  
  
“She thinks Mickey is innocent, doesn’t she?” Debbie said, and Ian nodded even though he still had his back to her. “She told me when I talked to her last.”  
  
“You’re friends with Mandy?” Ian couldn’t help but ask.  
  
Debbie hummed. “Sort of, I guess. She helped me with boy troubles when I was still an awkward pre-teen.”  
  
“You sorted that out pretty well,” Derek butted in, and Ian smiled a little to himself when he heard the smile in Derek’s voice.  
  
Debbie had been together with Derek since she was 14. Not constantly – they’d had a few break-ups – but they had come through it a little stronger each time. Ian had to admit he admired them, and maybe he was a little jealous sometimes. Derek was tough, but he was an absolute sweetheart when it came to Debbie.  
  
“Well,” Ian put a plate full of pancakes onto the table, “is there any specific reason you guys are here? Besides wanting to see me.”  
  
He gave Debbie a pointed look – he _knew_ she wouldn’t have come if she didn’t have a reason – but she just grinned back at him as she stood up to get plates and cutlery.  
  
“We might have a reason,” Derek allowed, voice warm with the barely held-back grin on his face. His eyes sort of sparkled when he looked at Debbie, and Ian sort of wanted to puke at the sight of it.  
  
Debbie sat back down and turned to Ian, beaming now. “I’m pregnant,” she said, and Ian froze.  
  
It took him a good minute to process the words, but when he did he felt his mood lift a little. A smile spread on his face as he looked between Debbie and Derek.  
  
“Really? Wow, that’s great, you guys!” he exclaimed, genuinely happy as he got up to give his sister a hug. Derek got one too, just because Ian felt like it. That it seemed to make Derek slightly uncomfortable wasn’t Ian’s problem. “I’m so happy for you!”  
  
Debbie and Derek were both smiling widely when Ian sat back down. “Yeah,” Debbie said, digging into her pancake, “we’re really happy too. Been trying for a while.”  
  
They settled into comfortable conversation as they ate, catching up on what had happened in their respective lives since they’d last seen each other, talking about Debbie’s upcoming pregnancy and trying to come up with potential baby names. Debbie caught Ian up properly on what was going on with all the Gallaghers, not that much had happened since Ian last saw them.  
  
Liam, Fiona and Gus were the only ones officially still living at the Gallagher house, but most of them seemed to still spend most of their time there. Or well, most of them except Lip, who had moved to Florida with his super-rich girlfriend Amanda to do business with her dad or something like that. No one was quite sure exactly what it was he did, but it generated a lot more money than any of Frank’s offspring had ever produced. Carl didn’t have a place of his own, but bounced from friend to friend and did god knows what. Probably illegal things, Fiona always said when Ian asked. He’d promised he’d be Carl’s defense attorney if he ever needed one.  
  
Before Ian knew it, it was almost half past eight. “I’m really sorry, guys, but you have to go,” he told Debbie and Derek, smiling apologetically at them, “I need to get to work on those MCC people.”  
  
“Oh,” Debbie said, just as taken aback by how quickly the time had passed as Ian. “Of course. It was nice seeing you again!”  
  
Ian smiled and pulled her into a hug. “You too, Debs. You guys better come by again soon.” He followed them into the hallway and watched as they put their shoes and jackets back on. “And you better take good care of her!” he said to Derek, who laughed and promised he would.  
  
When the door closed behind them, Ian sighed. He’d been in a much better mood while they were there to distract him, but now his mood plummeted again. At least he only needed to work today and tomorrow, and then it would be the weekend. Not that he thought he’d get much rest over the weekend, but at least he wouldn’t have to deal with other people.  
  
He called the warden of MCC as he got into his car and started driving towards his office. Amelia Woods wasn’t exactly happy to hear from him, but at least she was polite.  
  
“Ian Gallagher,” she said, “Milkovich’s lawyer. What can I do for you today?”  
  
“I thought I would convey a message from my client. More of a request, really,” Ian told her, and rolled his eyes when she didn’t suppress her sigh quite as well as she thought.  
  
“What is his request, Mr. Gallagher?” she asked tiredly, obviously just wanting him to get on with it.  
  
“He wants to be allowed to go home in between court hearings. I do understand that this might be difficult to pull off, but I’m asking you to consider it carefully.”  
  
For a minute, there was only silence. Ian waited, as patiently as he could bring himself to.  
  
“I will consider your request,” Amelia eventually conceded, and Ian grinned to himself. Maybe today wouldn’t be as bad as he had feared. He’d already gotten a visit and good news from his little sister, after all, and now it looked like he might even be able to grant his client’s only request so far.  
  
He reconsidered that thought when he got to the office and walked right into Clayton, who was frowning. Frowning was sort of Clayton’s default look, but this was his serious frown – the one he wore when he was worried or angry about something.  
  
“Hey, dad,” Ian greeted him, “what’s that look for?”  
  
Clayton looked up, seeming a little surprised at Ian’s presence. Ian supposed he’d been caught up in thoughts.  
  
“Oh, it’s nothing much,” Clayton said, waving a hand as if to wave away Ian’s questions. “Just trying to decide on a case.”  
  
“Got a lot to choose from?”  
  
Clayton shrugged. “Two or three. It’s just difficult to decide who to help.”  
  
“Yeah, I see your problem,” Ian said. “I need to work on my case though. I’ll talk to you later.”  
  
He couldn’t help the pride that sneaked into his voice when he said _my case_. He was proud – this was his second solo case, and it was a big case. He was proud that his father trusted him enough to let him take it, and he was proud of how he was handling it so far.  
  
Clayton just murmured something Ian couldn’t make out as Ian walked past him and into his own office, closing the door behind him. He didn’t feel like he needed to be interrupted today – he needed to focus on finding arguments to keep Mickey out of prison.  
  
The first one he could come up with was misconduct – Mickey hadn’t even gotten a proper interrogation after his arrest. They’d pretty much just thrown him in jail and said that his chances to avoid being convicted for murder were pretty much nonexistent. It made Ian feel angry and hopeless. No matter how much “evidence” the police supposedly had, they couldn’t just throw someone in jail like that.  
  
When he’d written that down, he picked up his phone to call the District 7 police department. The officer in charge of Mickey’s case was a Benjamin Holden, who didn’t sound very happy to hear from Mickey’s lawyer. What was up with that anyway? Did everyone want Mickey thrown in jail just because he was Southside? It bothered Ian to no end that people – well-educated people who were supposed to be helping other people, no less – had such deep-rooted stereotypes. Maybe Mickey’s demeanor didn’t help; he looked and acted like a typical Southside thug. When Benjamin Holden told him, within the first three minutes of their conversation, that Mickey had been screaming and swearing at the police during his arrest, Ian wasn’t surprised at all.  
  
After having talked more or less without pause for five minutes, Benjamin finally asked Ian why he was calling.  
  
“Right, thanks for asking, Officer Holden,” Ian said, hoping the officer would hear the thinly veiled annoyance in his voice. “You are entirely right when you assume I’m calling about Mickey Milkovich. I’m his lawyer, and according to my client he didn’t get a proper hearing upon arrest? I wanted to know why that is.”  
  
For a minute, there was only silence from Benjamin Holden. Since there was no one around, Ian felt no need to hold back the smirk on his lips.  
  
“Well Mr. Gallagher, we had quite enough evidence that Mr. Milkovich is, in fact, the perpetrator,” Holden said after a while, voice suddenly much more distanced and closed off.  
  
“Regardless of how much evidence you have, you should always interview the suspect,” Ian argued, “but I will ignore this if you can do me a few favors.”  
  
More silence. Eventually, Holden released a deep sigh and Ian grinned to himself, recognizing victory when he heard it.  
  
“What favors are you asking, Mr. Gallagher?”  
  
“Right now I just want to know at what time you think the murder was committed, so I can ask my client if he has an alibi. I might have more favors to ask later.”  
  
“If your client has a reliable alibi for the 17 th of April, he should be safe,” Holden said, sounding very resigned and unhappy.  
  
“The whole day?”  
  
“The body had been dead for a while when we found it on the 25th. April 17th was the last time anyone saw him. He was probably killed sometime between two and four p.m.”  
  
“I understand. Thank you, Officer Holden,” said Ian, scribbling a reminder to ask Mickey about April 17th in his notebook as he hung up.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Amelia Woods called him back in the middle of Ian’s lunch. It annoyed him more than it would have on a good day, but he tried his hardest to be nice and polite when he picked it up.  
  
“I thought about your request,” Amelia said once they were done with all the nonsense greeting phrases. “I discussed it with some of my colleagues, Officer Holden and the judge who’s been assigned your client’s case.”  
  
“Did you reach a conclusion?” Ian asked, trying to hide his impatience.  
  
“Yes, as a matter of fact we decided to acquiesce your client’s request. In between court hearings, he’ll be under house arrest.”  
  
Perhaps it wasn’t exactly what Mickey had hoped for, but it wasn’t a no. It was actually a yes. A cautious yes, but nonetheless a yes, and Ian saw it for the victory it was.  
  
“Thank you, Ms. Woods, it’s greatly appreciated. When will he be allowed to go home?” If he was going to have more meetings with Mickey, he needed to know whether they would be at the MCC or Mickey’s place. If it was the latter, he needed to find Mickey’s address.  
  
“Later today. We arranged a transport for Mr. Milkovich at 4.30pm.”  
  
Ian glanced at the watch on his wrist. It was 1.35pm now, so Mickey would be home in about three hours. That gave Ian at least two more hours to work before he needed to find Mickey’s address – which he was pretty sure he had written down somewhere – and go see him.  
  
He thanked Amelia Woods and hung up, finishing his pasta salad while thinking of what he should do next. He definitely needed to find at least one more argument: he doubted that just misconduct would do it. He needed to go to the police station and talk more to Benjamin Holden and whoever else worked on Mickey’s case, preferably before the first court hearing tomorrow.  
  
When he’d finished eating he still had two hours until Mickey would be home, so he decided he could drive down to Englewood and talk to the policemen working on Mickey’s case.  
  
He hadn’t even talked to them for half an hour when he realized it was a complete waste of time. They had only done just enough investigation for what evidence they had – which was vague, in Ian’s opinion – to point to Mickey, and now that Mickey had been arrested they seemed to have given up.  
  
Since Ian had already talked to Holden, he’d sat down with another person from Holden’s team. His name was Noah Crawford and he didn’t seem to be much older than Ian. Ian’s guess was that he was no older than 35.  
  
“We have a connection between the victim and the perpetrator – the victim was Milkovich’s landlord. A landlord who threatened to evict him twice in the last month according to witnesses: there’s your motive. The victim was shot with a Beretta PX4 Storm, which also happens to be Mr. Milkovich’s weapon of choice.”  
  
Ian internally sighed. There were so many things he could say – threat of eviction was sort of a weak motive, and murder was a really bad, not to mention temporary solution to the problem; a lot of people’s weapon of choice was a Beretta PX4 Storm; he was sure the victim had many more and much connections to other people than one of his tenants.  
  
Unless, of course, there was something there that Mickey wouldn’t tell him and that the police hadn’t discovered… Ian shook off the thought. He couldn’t start doubting and second-guessing himself now.  
  
He left the police station at twenty past four, coming up with a number of creative swears he’d have to remind himself to absolutely _not_ use in the courtroom under _any_ circumstance. He didn’t drive away immediately, staying in his car in the parking lot for a moment and rifling through his papers to try and find Mickey’s address.  
  
It took him almost five minutes and a lot of frustration, but eventually he emerged triumphant, holding a piece of paper with the information he needed on it. He estimated the drive to be at most twenty minutes, and decided to waste some more time by going through what he had so far.  
  
He realized a minute later that maybe taking up his notebook to do that wasn’t such a great idea. He really hadn’t written a whole lot, so there wasn’t really much info to go through there. Deciding to fill it with more notes, he fished out a pen from his bag and wrote down a few more things, mostly things he should remember to ask Mickey when he went to see him.  
  
When he surfaced from his thoughts a while later, it was 4.35 and he decided he could go see Mickey at his apartment in Back of the Yards. He couldn’t help but be a little annoyed with himself for forgetting to change out of his suit before he ventured into the Southside, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now. He wouldn’t be outside for long anyway – less time to be noticed, not to mention mugged. He brought most of his things with him inside anyway, just to be safe.  
  
A black cat shot past Ian’s legs when Mickey opened the door, and Mickey threw his hands up in the air exasperatedly as he glared after it.  
  
“Ayy Danny, get the fuck back here!” he exclaimed. “Those are mine!”  
  
Ian turned to look more closely at the cat, noticing that it had something in its mouth. He turned back to look at Mickey. His intent was to ask if he could come in, or if Mickey had time or something of the sort. What came out was, “you have a cat?”  
  
Mickey refocused his gaze on Ian’s face and glared at him instead of the cat. “Yes, I have a cat,” he replied, voice unnecessarily venomous in Ian’s opinion. “Can you please get her for me?”  
  
He stuck out his leg a little, wiggling his foot so Ian could see the monitor on his ankle. “This will go the fuck off if I take so much as a step over the threshold. Get my fucking cat, Gallagher.”  
  
After a moment’s consideration, Ian turned around and walked toward the cat, which had stopped a few meters behind him and was now watching him and Mickey cautiously. As he got closer, Ian realized that it was holding a pair of boxers in its mouth.  
  
“Why does your cat have your boxers in its mouth?” Ian asked Mickey, trying his very hardest not to imagine Mickey in said piece of clothing. He smiled at the cat as he picked it up, cradling it to his chest.  
  
“ _My cat_ ,” Mickey spat, “has my boxers in her mouth ‘cause she’s a little underwear-stealing shit.”  
  
She did start squirming in Ian’s arms when he approached Mickey, as if she knew what was coming. Ian held fast though, and handed her over to Mickey when he was close enough. He got a very offended-sounding _meow_ for his troubles.  
  
“Her name is Danny?” Ian asked as he followed Mickey into the apartment, closing the door behind him.  
  
“No,” Mickey muttered, more focused on trying to wrestle his boxers from his cat than anything else, “her name is Deathmaw. Danny’s just easier to say.”  
  
Ian almost choked on his next breath. “Deathmaw?” he echoed. “Her name is _Deathmaw_? Why would you name your cat Deathmaw?”  
  
Having successfully retrieved his underwear from his cat’s mouth, Mickey looked up to scowl at Ian. “She likes to kill things,” he explained in a somewhat grumpy voice, “and then she brings them to me. Rats, mice, I think she even brought a fuckin’ rabbit once.”  
  
“Oh.” Ian scrunched up his nose. “That’s gross.”  
  
Mickey snorted, but didn’t bother replying in any other way, and Ian took a moment to look around. The apartment was quite small and open, the rooms not clearly divided. From the hallway Ian could easily see into the living room on the right, and the kitchen beyond that. On the left was a wall with two doors, and in front of Ian, on the end of a short corridor, was a bathroom. The walls in the hallway and living room were, interestingly, black brick.  
  
“Make yourself at home, or something,” Mickey muttered, waving an arm at Ian as he went into the kitchen. Ian definitely didn’t look at his ass when Mickey bent over to look in the fridge. “You want a beer or something?”  
  
Ian hesitated. He was technically working, and drinking on the job would be very, very unprofessional – not to mention that he wasn’t supposed to drink on his meds.  
  
“No thanks,” he said, stepping out of his shoes as he walked inside to sit on Mickey’s couch. “Some other time, maybe.”  
  
Mickey just grunted in response, pulling out a beer for himself before he joined Ian on the couch. Ian watched as he absent-mindedly patted Danny’s black fur when she jumped up into his lap.  
  
“I would try to be polite by asking you why you’re here, but we both already know why the fuck you’re here,” Mickey said, gesturing to Ian with his beer bottle before he took a sip.  
  
Ian cleared his throat. “Right, of course.” He took a moment to get his papers in order and refused to admit to himself that he did it more because he was nervous than anything else. Taking a peek at his notes from earlier in the day, he asked, “I need to ask, what were you doing on April 17 th?”  
  
Mickey just looked at him with raised eyebrows. “You a fucking cop now?” he asked, and honestly, Ian should’ve seen that coming.  
  
“No,” he sighed, “I’m still your lawyer. But since the cops didn’t do their job properly, I need to ask. Do you have an alibi for the 17th or not?”  
  
After another moment of just watching Ian, Mickey turned back to his beer bottle and shrugged. “I don’t even know, man. What day of the week was it?”  
  
Ian held up a finger as he looked for his calendar – a small pocket thing, with a plain black cover – and leafed through it. “A Friday,” he informed Mickey.  
  
He watched Mickey think for a moment, eyebrows furrowed and left hand still absent-mindedly stroking Danny’s fur.  
  
“I think that was my day off,” Mickey said after a minute, and Ian mentally swore. “I know I was working on Thursday, but I remember my sister calling me and asking if we could hang out the next day, since it was my day off and all.”  
  
A small spark of hope lit up in Ian’s chest at that, and he prayed that Mickey had, in fact, hung out with his sister.  
  
“But I was really tired and felt like shit so I blew her off and just stayed home instead,” Mickey finished, shrugging a shoulder and taking another swig of his beer.  
  
Ian wanted to scream in frustration. He could still do this, would still do this, but it would have been so much easier if Mickey had had an alibi.  
  
“So, no alibi,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than Mickey, as he wrote it down in his notebook. He looked up to meet Mickey’s gaze again. “Do you even know who the victim was?”  
  
“I’m not stupid, of course I know who it was. But as an answer to your underlying question – no, no one told me.”  
  
“Did anyone even ask you about it?” Ian asked, feeling annoyed.  
  
“The officer dude asked if I knew who he was.” Ian assumed that the officer dude was Benjamin Holden. “Didn’t tell me why he wanted to know though.”  
  
God, this case was a mess, Ian thought, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands and show his client how frustrated he was. He took a deep breath and told himself he only needed to get through the court hearing tomorrow. Then it would be easier, or at least he hoped so.  
  
“You ready for court tomorrow?” he asked Mickey, but the look Mickey gave him said everything. “You got something nice to wear?”  
  
Mickey snorted and gestured to himself. He was wearing a threadbare tank top and grey sweats, and Ian briefly wondered if he was wearing anything under them.  
  
“Does it look like I got something nice to wear?”  
  
Mickey finished his beer and leaned forward to set it down on the coffee table with a noise that made Ian flinch. Ian definitely did not look at the muscles in his arm, nope.  
  
Before his brain caught up with his mouth, Ian found himself saying, “you can borrow something from me. Should have an old suit or two that should fit you.” _Oh_ , he thought when his lips stopped moving again. But maybe it wasn’t that bad: being Mickey’s lawyer meant keeping him out of jail, and Ian had found that people who looked respectable and nice often had a bigger chance of staying out of jail.  
  
Mickey looked shocked though, frozen halfway through leaning back against the couch. He didn’t even move when Danny jumped off his lap, possibly sneaking away to steal more boxers.  
  
“You’re gonna me put me in a suit? In one of _your_ suits?”  
  
Ian shrugged. “Yeah, I mean… I don’t use them anymore, they’re too small for me now. I don’t know why I haven’t thrown them away. So just tell me what size you wear, and I’ll see what I can find.”  
  
Mickey huffed and shook his head, not looking at Ian as he leaned back and relaxed into the couch. Or tried to, Ian thought he looked pretty tense. He wondered briefly if he’d crossed a line.  
  
“Whatever, man” Mickey said then, and Ian breathed a quiet sigh of relief he didn’t know he’d been holding. “I don’t know how suit sizes work, but I usually wear like a medium. Now, when the fuck is this court hearing and when do I need to get up?”  
  
Court hearing would be at 2pm, and Ian wanted to be there at least half an hour early. He’d be nervous enough as it was without needing to worry about being late.  
  
“I’ll be here at 12, get up whenever you need to be ready by then.”  
  
“Minus the clothes, right?” Mickey said and Ian swallowed, trying, _again_ , not to imagine Mickey more or less naked.  
  
“Yeah,” he managed to get out. “I’ll bring the clothes.”  
  
There was an awkward silence for a moment, Ian staring at the coffee table and Mickey seemingly thinking about something. After a minute, Mickey sighed and said, “so you got Important Lawyer Shit to do, or what?”  
  
Ian frowned and turned to look at Mickey, surprised and confused. “What?” was all he managed to get out, and Mickey rolled his eyes in annoyance. It looked like he was about to spit something angry back, so Ian said, “but no, I don’t really have anything to do now, I guess.”  
  
Mickey made an impatient gesture towards the TV – or maybe the whole apartment, Ian wasn’t quite sure – with his hand.  
  
“Stay, then,” he said, and Ian felt his mouth drop open a little in shock. Nonetheless, it couldn’t hurt to spend some time with his client, Ian thought.  
  
As Ian stayed with Mickey for another half hour, browsing channels on the TV and occasionally saying something, he thought that maybe taking this case hadn’t been such a bright idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out my [lawyer au tag](http://cockslutovich.tumblr.com/tagged/lawyer-au) for edits as well as updates and info about the au


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian & Mickey go to court, and Ian gets some less than encouraging news from Officer Holden.

Getting Mickey ready for the court hearing turned out to be a pain in the ass. Ian arrived at Mickey’s apartment at 11.30, half an hour earlier than he said he would, just because. As it turned out, Mickey wasn’t much of a morning person, and had woken up only minutes before Ian’s arrival. His hair was sleep ruffled, eyes barely open and he had sheet lines on his cheek. He was wearing a somewhat oversized t-shirt and worn sweatpants.  
  
Ian had to swallow to hold back the cooing noises that wanted to escape his mouth. Mickey was _not_ cute, he sternly told himself, but the baby giraffes in his stomach didn’t seem to agree. “Good morning,” he said instead, pointedly raising his eyebrows at Mickey.  
  
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Mickey muttered, voice rough and deeper than usual with sleep. Ian ignored the way his stomach swooped at the sound. “I was supposed to have half an hour to wake the fuck up.”  
  
Ian noticed Danny moving behind Mickey, seemingly set on the door, and quickly stepped inside so he could close it behind him.  
  
“Well, I’m here now,” he said, a small smile spreading on his lips as Mickey grumbled something he couldn’t hear in response. “And I don’t mind seeing you like this.”  
  
He hadn’t meant for that last bit to slip out, but it did anyway. It made Mickey huff out a laugh though, so maybe it wasn’t that bad.  
  
“You don’t mind seeing me like this?” he repeated as he headed for the kitchen, Ian following him. He watched, unsure of what he should do, as Mickey poured himself a cup of coffee. “The fuck is that supposed to mean, man?”  
  
Ian shrugged. “It means I don’t mind seeing you like this,” he said, unhelpfully. Mickey rolled his eyes at him, but then held up the coffee pot.  
  
“You want some?”  
  
Despite the fact that he sort of did, Ian shook his head. “No thanks, I’m fine,” he said. He was nervous enough already, add caffeine to it and his whole body would be shaking by the time they arrived at court.  
  
Mickey just shrugged, silence falling over them as he turned to his breakfast. Ian thought it was a little awkward, but Mickey seemed completely at ease. Maybe Ian was just tense.  
  
The only sound was Mickey sipping his coffee and, at one point, Danny meowing. Ian looked over to where the noise came from, seeing her standing on Mickey’s coffee table. He was just about to ask Mickey if she really should be there, of if he should remove her, when she jumped down.  
  
“Isn’t it very… quiet?” Ian asked, and Mickey looked up at him in confusion. “To live alone.”  
  
Mickey levelled him with a blank stare. “I don’t live alone,” he said, raising an eyebrow. Ian felt his own eyebrows contract into a frown.  
  
“You don’t?”  
  
“Nah, I have a flatmate,” Mickey told him, turning back to his coffee. “He’s just not here a whole lot.”  
  
“You have a flatmate?” Ian frowned. He felt vaguely like a parrot, but mostly he just felt confused and surprised. “Why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
Mickey sighed, rolling his eyes. Ian thought that he should have been able to predict this reaction.  
  
“I don’t need to tell you everything,” Mickey muttered, but Ian levelled him with an unimpressed stare.  
  
“This flatmate of yours can most certainly be a witness in this case,” he said, “this flatmate can help you stay out of jail. How the fuck am I supposed to do my job if you don’t tell me important things like this?”  
  
He didn’t notice that he had raised his voice until he stopped talking and found Mickey looking at him with wide eyes. Ian honestly hadn’t meant to speak so unprofessionally either, but there was something about Mickey that made him feel far too comfortable at the same time as it set him on edge.  
  
“Jeez, calm down,” Mickey muttered when Ian stopped talking, breathing hard from his little tirade. “Jake’s almost never here anyway. Pretty sure he hasn’t been here in, like, a week.”  
  
Ian tried to hold back his annoyed huff, but a small sound escaped him anyway. Luckily, Mickey didn’t seem to notice. Somehow, Ian didn’t think Mickey would appreciate Ian getting annoyed when refused information about his private life.  
  
“Where do you think he is?” Ian asked, partially just to have something to say.  
  
Mickey grunted, shrugging a shoulder. “Getting high somewhere, probably.”  
  
And that was that. Mickey obviously didn’t want to talk more about this Jake guy, and Ian didn’t want to bother him and rile him up before his first court hearing. Admittedly Mickey didn’t seem very worried but the less nerves between the both of them, the better.  
  
Mickey apparently hated suits, which Ian found out after Mickey had finished his breakfast and showered. As soon as Ian brought it out, Mickey started glaring at him – and he didn’t stop. He started glaring before he went into his bedroom to change out of his towel, and kept glaring when he came out of it. He was only wearing a pair of boxers with frayed edges (courtesy of Danny, Ian guessed), and Ian had to try really hard not to stare. Mickey may not have rock-hard abs, but his body was nice nonetheless.  
  
As Mickey got dressed, he was grumbling under his breath. Ian was pretty sure it was all swear words and insults aimed at the suit, possibly also at Ian.  
  
“Don’t like dressing up?” he asked, but backed off immediately when Mickey just glared and actually growled. “It’s just for a few hours, don’t worry.”  
  
Mickey didn’t seem very soothed and he kept glaring, but at least he stopped grumbling.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

The court hearing was somewhat successful. It wasn’t like Ian had a whole lot of good arguments as to why Mickey should be declared innocent, but there also weren’t a whole lot of good arguments for the opposite.  
  
Since it was his first time speaking in front of the court all on his own, without any of his family there, he was quite nervous. He was afraid he’d forget to say something important, or stutter when asking the person in the witness chair something. To Ian’s surprise, there were actually two witnesses: the victim’s wife, who pretty much just confirmed the time of the victim’s disappearance, and the person who’d found the body. Neither of them contributed very much to either side and were seemingly called in mostly for show.  
  
Yet Ian was the most nervous for when Mickey went into the witness chair, because he never knew where he had that guy. Mickey seemed so disinterested in his own case that Ian wouldn’t put it past him to say things that would probably put him in jail. They had gone through what Mickey should and shouldn’t say beforehand, and Ian had whispered little tips to him during the trial, but he wasn’t sure Mickey had listened to him at all.  
  
So when Mickey was asked about the probable motive and Mickey shot it down with a swift, “that’s ridiculous. I’ve been saving money for rent for several weeks and the dude knew it,” Ian breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
Of course, he tensed up again when the opposing lawyer – Shawn Hodge, the very name sounded like it belonged to an asshole if you asked Ian – just made a little hm-sound and continued pacing in front of Mickey. After a moment, he stopped his pacing and looked up to meet Mickey’s stony gaze.  
  
“How come you didn’t have enough money in the first place?” he asked.   
  
Ian felt that the question was unnecessary, but he was also pretty sure it wouldn’t do any harm. Unless, of course, there was something else important Mickey hadn’t told him.  
  
Mickey visibly suppressed a sigh. “I had to take some time off work ‘cause I got sick,” he said, “and there were some other things that came up – family stuff.”  
  
The lawyer in front of him nodded slowly. Before he could say anything, Mickey opened his mouth again. “There’s at least three people you can ask about the validity of that,” he said, and Ian bit the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t smile.  
  
“Would you mind naming these people, and their relation to you?”  
  
This time, Mickey suppressed an eye roll. Ian wondered if it was as obvious to everyone in the room as it was to him, or if he just knew Mickey too well already.  
  
“My sister Mandy Milkovich, my co-worker Adam Blackwell and my flatmate Jake Tanner,” Mickey said, counting them off on his fingers. Ian made a mental note to ask Jacob to look up Jake Tanner. He sincerely doubted they’d find much, but since Mickey himself obviously wouldn’t tell Ian more than he absolutely had to, it couldn’t hurt.  
  
“Your co-worker? Not your boss?” Shawn Hodge asked, and Ian wanted to roll his eyes so much that his eyeballs actually hurt.  
  
Mickey seemed to be equally frustrated, and considering his temperament, Ian was pleasantly surprised when he evenly replied, “my boss knows I took sick days, but not what I used them for. My co-worker knows I was actually sick, and talked me into going home.”  
  
That seemed to be enough, finally, for Shawn Hodge. Ian had never met the guy before, but he’d heard about him. He was just as much of an asshole as Ian had expected, if not more.  
  
When Mickey left the chair and went to sit beside Ian again, Ian could feel the frustrated energy rolling off him in waves.  
  
“Just a few more minutes,” he muttered to Mickey, but Mickey’s only response was to sigh.  
  
His defendant practically stormed out of the courtroom when Judge Destinee Pierce said they could go, and Ian caught up with him just in time so he wouldn’t be swarmed by the reporters outside. Mickey let out an annoyed growl when Ian pushed him behind himself, but seemed to relent when he caught sight of the hordes of reporters and other curious people.  
  
“Fucking Christ,” he muttered, just loud enough so Ian could hear him. “Don’t these people have a life?”  
  
Ian silently agreed, even as he smiled at the crowd. This was the first time he was alone in this kind of chaos, but he thought he handled it pretty well, shoving past people as gently as he could and repeating that neither he nor his client had nothing to say. Then he caught sight of Chloe Kaufman, and his smile froze on his face.  
  
Chloe Kaufman had gone to high school with Ian, and had made it her life mission to become Ian’s girlfriend. By his second year, Ian had lost count of how many times he’d turned her down. Her determination was admirable, really, and maybe Ian would have been amused if it was aimed at someone else. It was only after they graduated and went to different schools that she seemed to give up.  
  
_Seemed to_ , because two years later she moved on to Jacob. Ian remembered getting pissed off and thinking Jacob was way too young to be with her, but Jacob seemed to like it. No one had really thought it would last, but here they were three years later and Chloe and Jacob were still pretty close. Ian wasn’t sure if they were together at the moment, since they were sort of an on-again-off-again couple, but he knew they usually stayed friends even through their breakups.  
  
Clayton hadn’t been too happy about his son dating a reporter because of the risk for leaks, whether intentional or not, but so far it seemed like Chloe respected Jacob’s rules or Jacob hadn’t told her a thing. Possibly both. There were probably other things Clayton didn’t like about his youngest son’s relationship, like the age difference and the whole on-again-off-again thing, but Clayton never really said anything about it. Especially not to Ian.  
  
The problem was that Chloe still seemed annoyed that Ian hadn’t wanted to be with her. He sort of understood her: he’d stayed carefully single all through high school, and never told anyone that he was gay. He hadn’t even told his family that he was gay. Maybe if he’d told her that was why he didn’t want to be with her, she would have let it go. Then again, he’d been young and scared. He didn’t think he could be blamed for not telling her.  
  
Ian still felt a bit off balance after seeing her when he and Mickey got into his car. Of course, he knew she’d gone on to be a news anchor, but he’d had no idea she’d be covering this case. He hoped it wouldn’t become a problem, but he thought he’d seen something in her eyes that made him uncomfortable.  
  
As Ian started driving towards Mickey’s apartment, Mickey was muttering to himself and tugging at his tie in the passenger seat.  
  
“Careful with that tie,” Ian said as Mickey tugged on it so hard it must have hurt his neck. He wanted to tell him to be careful with his neck too, but had a feeling that might seriously overstep the boundary _friendly professional_ territory and _affectionate friend_ territory. “It’s mine, you know.”  
  
Mickey glared. “You don’t use it anymore,” he spat. “This suit is too small for your goddamn giant body.”  
  
Ian almost laughed. He wanted to, because no matter how much he tried to tell himself that wasn’t the case, Mickey _was_ cute. But Mickey looked so frustrated and angry that he held it in. Even so, he was pretty sure Mickey could hear the laugher in his voice when he protested Mickey’s words, saying, “I’m not a giant.”  
  
“Well, you’re a lot bigger than me,” Mickey muttered, seeming to relax more and more the closer they got to the Southside. “Therefore, giant.”  
  
Ian caught himself smiling, maybe a little affectionately, as he gave in to the bickering, which felt more comfortable than he thought it probably should. As he pulled up in front of Mickey’s apartment building and watched him get out of the car, he came to a realization, his whole body jolting with the suddenness of it.  
  
He liked Mickey. He really, really liked Mickey. He wanted to spend as much time with him as possible, talking to him about anything and everything. He wanted to be able to touch him, hug him, kiss him. Ian wanted to make Mickey smile, make him feel good.  
  
For a minute, he just sat there. He wasn’t exactly shocked – he’d liked Mickey more than he should have from the start. The full realization was just so sudden, and he hadn’t expected it to be so… So much. He felt like if he didn’t watch himself carefully (which he _would_ , he promised himself), he could fall hard for Mickey.  
  
He was startled out of his thoughts when Mickey knocked on the car window. He made an impatient face when Ian looked at him, and Ian rolled his eyes as he moved to get out of the car. Mickey made a face back at him and turned back to enter his apartment building.  
  
“My monitor will start going off soon if you don’t hurry,” Mickey called over his shoulder. Ian pushed down the warm feeling that rose in his stomach at Mickey’s clear expectance that Ian would follow.  
  
Ian entered Mickey’s apartment, and found that Mickey had already disappeared into one of the unexplored rooms. He’d left a trail of clothes after him, leading into one of the rooms on the left. Clearly he couldn’t wait to get out of the suit he hated so much.  
  
“You got anything to do after this?” Mickey called as he walked back out of his bedroom, now wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. He seemed a little surprised to find Ian still standing in the hallway like a dumbass, but Ian had been a little overwhelmed at the trail of clothes and the sudden vivid image in his mind of Mickey naked.  
  
“Uh… No?” he said intelligently. Mickey snorted and shook his head, turning to go sit on the couch.  
  
“You gonna come inside then?”  
  
Ian scrambled to follow Mickey’s example and half-fell onto the couch next to him. Mickey huffed, glancing at him for a moment before he went back to channel surfing.  
  
“All the grace of a newborn giraffe,” he muttered, and Ian stared at him in mock offense.  
  
“Excuse you!” he exclaimed, drawing a quick laugh from Mickey. “I’m a lawyer, not a dancer.”  
  
He thought for a moment. “Well, actually, I _was_ a dancer,” he conceded. “But that’s a long time ago. I was, like, seventeen.”  
  
Nonetheless, that had gotten Mickey’s attention and he was now staring at his lawyer with an open mouth. The TV seemed to be forgotten, currently showing an episode of The Big Bang Theory.  
  
“You were a dancer?” Mickey asked incredulously. Ian shrugged, suddenly a bit self-conscious. He felt like squirming, but stayed still by firmly reminding himself that he was an Adult, and Adults didn’t squirm.  
  
“Yeah. At a gay club.” There was a pregnant pause, Ian realizing he’d probably said too much, Mickey trying to take in what he’d just heard. “Anyway, that was a long time ago.  
  
He waved a hand, as if physically trying to wave away the subject, and turned to look at the TV. He determinedly ignored Mickey’s gaze on him, and Mickey seemed to get the message since he didn’t say anything else on the matter.  
  
They watched the whole Big Bang Theory episode in slightly awkward silence, which Mickey ended up breaking when the credits started rolling. “So you’re gay?” he asked, and if Ian knew him better he’d laugh. As it was, he wasn’t sure laughing was okay.  
  
“Yeah,” he said, resisting the temptation to look at Mickey. “Does that bother you, having a gay lawyer?”  
  
“Not really,” Mickey said. “You’re keeping me out of jail, not inappropriately hitting on me.”  
  
“That’s true.”  
  
It would stay true for as long as Mickey was his client, at least, so Ian told himself he wasn’t lying.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Things got a little bit more complicated the next day, when Ian got a call from none other than his favorite officer, telling Ian to bring his client in for questioning.  
  
“Why?” Ian asked, dragging a hand down his face. “What’s going on?”  
  
There was a pause, then a sigh. Ian steeled himself. “We’ve found more bodies,” Holden told him, “and we have reason to believe they’re connected to the murder of Callan Klein.”  
  
Ian frowned. “How?” he asked. “Mickey has either been in jail or under house arrest this whole time – it’s impossible that he’s murdered more people.”  
  
“These were killed before we even found the first body,” Holden told him, and Ian’s heart sank like a stone down into his stomach. “Time of death has been estimated to the twenty-second and twenty-seventh of April, respectively. They were killed and disposed of in a similar manner to the first victim.”  
  
Ian swore a mile long tirade, making sure not to say any of it out loud. Holden disliked him enough already just because he was defending a Southside thug, he didn’t need to be looked down on for swearing too.  
  
“Should I bring him in today? It’s Saturday,” Ian pointed out, prompting Holden to release another sigh.  
  
“No, bring him in as soon as possible Monday morning,” he said. “8 o’clock.”  
  
Ian suspected Mickey would violently oppose to having be at the police station at eight in the morning, but he also suspected the risk for losing this case would increase if he didn’t show up in time.  
  
“You got it, Officer,” Ian promised, hanging up and making a face at the phone. He seriously doubted he’d ever encountered a police officer he disliked as much as Officer Holden. Then again, it may just be Holden’s attitude towards Mickey and his upbringing that made Ian find him so revolting.  
  
He put the phone away and heaved a small sigh. It was 1pm, and he was still walking around at home in sweatpants. There were things he needed to do, like call Jacob and get him on investigating Jake Tanner. Then again, it _was_ Saturday, and his little brother had always been less inclined to work than Ian.  
  
Deciding to have mercy on his little brother, Ian dialed Mickey’s number instead. He’d acquired it the day before, Mickey grumbling about how Ian should have a way to announce that he was coming over so he could make sure Danny stayed inside. Ian refused to let himself hope that it was just an excuse.  
  
He was just about to give up on Mickey answering and hang up when Mickey answered with a very aggressive, “ _what_?”  
  
The rough sound of his voice gave Ian pause, and he frowned. “Were you still sleeping?” he asked, a little surprised. Okay, so he already knew Mickey wasn’t a morning person, but one in the afternoon? It was a little extreme, he thought.  
  
Apparently Mickey didn’t agree, groaning right in Ian’s ear. It was clearly a sound of annoyance, but Ian felt a hot jolt of electricity go through his stomach anyway.  
  
“Yes,” Mickey said, sounding absolutely murderous. “I was sleeping. What the fuck do you want?”  
  
“Is that any way to talk to your lawyer?” Ian asked, because apparently Mickey crushed all his inhibitions and erased all his lines.  
  
“ _Gallagher_ ,” Mickey growled, “what. The fuck. Do you want?”  
  
“Okay, okay, fine, Jesus. I just thought I should warn you that I just got a call from Holden.”  
  
“That the officer dude?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Okay… and?”  
  
Ian seriously doubted there was a more frustrating – or intriguing – client than Mickey. “ _And_ , he said they’d found more people they think you murdered.”  
  
Silence. Then an empathic, “ _Fuck_!”  
  
“Yeah,” Ian agreed. “He wants me to bring you in for questioning on Monday, 8 o’clock.”  
  
“Are you fucking kidding me?”  
  
“Unfortunately not. Should I come wake you up, or are you capable of getting out of bed yourself?”  
  
Mickey snorted. “I am capable of taking care of myself, Gallagher. I’ll get ready in time, don’t worry about it,” he muttered. Something in his tone made Ian think that maybe he should get to Mickey’s apartment early anyway, just in case.  
  
“Great,” he said nonetheless. “That’s all. See you Monday morning.”  
  
Without waiting for a response from Mickey, Ian hung up.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

It was nearing 4pm, and Ian was going over Mickey’s case for the fifth time when his doorbell rang. He was so focused on what he was doing that the sound made him jerk in surprise and almost fall off his couch. It rang again as he was getting up to go open the door and he rolled his eyes to himself.  
  
“I’m coming, jeez, don’t get your panties in a twist,” he muttered under his breath.  
  
He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected to see when he opened the door, but it certainly wasn’t Mandy Milkovich. He was really confused for a moment, since he didn’t remember telling her his address, but smiled at her nonetheless.   
  
“Oh,” he said, “hello. No offense, but how do you know where I live?”  
  
She smiled back at him, a little shyly. “Hi,” she answered, making a small gesture towards Ian. Ian interpreted it as her asking for entrance and took a step back, letting her step past him and closing the door behind her. “I might have asked Fiona about it. I hope that’s okay.”  
  
“Oh, yeah, don’t worry about it. I was just surprised. What are you doing here?” he asked, leading the way to his couch. “And how did you get in? I mean, you didn’t call on the entry phone.”  
  
Mandy shook her head. “No, I waited outside until I saw someone go inside and just slipped inside with them.” She paused, looking up at him with wide eyes. “That isn’t illegal, is it?”  
  
Ian laughed. She was so unlike her brother at the same time as she was just like him. “No, I’m pretty sure that’s not illegal,” he said, shaking his head.  
  
“Pretty sure? Aren’t you supposed to know stuff like this? You’re a lawyer.”  
  
“I might be a criminal defense attorney, but my father’s firm focuses on homicide. Whatever I may have known about illegally entering buildings I have forgotten,” he replied.  
  
Just like with Mickey, falling into comfortable bickering with Mandy was scarily easy. Ian straightened up a little when he realized it and watched a flush rise to Mandy’s cheeks as she seemed to realize the same thing.  
  
A little awkwardly, she cleared her throat. “Well, I’m here to ask about Mickey. How he’s doing and stuff.”  
  
Ian raised his eyebrows at her. “Why don’t you ask him?”  
  
“I mean… about his case,” Mandy amended. “I want to know how the case is going.”  
  
Okay, that was a little weird, Ian thought. But it was none of his business, so he didn’t comment on it as he shrugged instead.  
  
“It’s going okay, I think. I won’t lie and say it’s not difficult, because it is, but I still have hope that I can make it.”  
  
Mandy smiled at him and okay, she was really pretty. Ian needed to see Mickey smile like that, needed to know if he looked just as beautiful. He heaved a mental sigh over the fact that he’d pretty much fallen for a grumpy, frowny ex-thug.  
  
“Good,” Mandy said, “that’s good.”  
  
They were enveloped in awkward silence for a minute before Mandy took a deep breath, standing up. “I’m sorry I ambushed you like this, and on a Saturday,” she said, gesturing to Ian’s lazy outfit and somewhat messy coffee table, “I just… I don’t know. I felt like I really needed to know, suddenly, and my impulse control isn’t that great, you know?”  
  
Ian smiled up at her, nodding. “Yeah, I get it,” he said. “And it’s all cool, I was pretty bored anyway. I mean, all I’ve been doing today is going through the case over and over.”  
  
She laughed. “Good thing I didn’t disturb you then,” she said, and Ian nodded in agreement.  
  
“Know what,” he said, leaning forward to take his phone from the coffee table, “why don’t we exchange numbers so I can update you and you can ask me things without you having to go through all this trouble?”  
  
She flushed, and Ian hoped she didn’t think he was hitting on her. She was, technically, his client as much as Mickey was and she definitely wasn’t his type anyway. Not to mention that he planned on saving all that for her brother, when he managed to make sure he stayed out of jail.  
  
“Sure,” she said, taking Ian’s phone when he offered it and typing in her number. “I have to go now, but don’t forget to text me so I’ll have your number too!”  
  
“Of course,” Ian promised, following her to the door and seeing her out. He watched her go down the hallway, desperately trying not to think about her relationship with her brother.  
  
They were his clients, and it was none of his business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as per usual, i'll be putting some stuff from this au up on my [tumblr](http://cockslutovich.tumblr.com/tagged/lawyer-au)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this took some time... I'd like to apologize for that, and say that in the future i will try to write these things faster. i can't promise anything, but i will TRY

Later the same night Ian was sprawled across his couch, eating takeout and watching an episode of Parks and Recreation, when his doorbell rang again. It annoyed him a little bit this time, seeing as it was now nearly 8.30pm and he’d pretty much settled in for the night. He entertained the thought of just ignoring it for a minute, but got up to answer it when it rang a second time.  
  
Corey took a shocked step back when Ian opened the door with an annoyed noise. He relaxed a little when he saw who it was, but Corey was still looking at him with widened eyes.  
  
“Am I interrupting something?” he asked. Ian made a noncommittal noise and gestured to the rest of his apartment with his head, going back to the couch and leaving Corey to let himself in.  
  
“Not really. I’d just started relaxing for the night, is all.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
Ian didn’t even look up as Corey dumped himself on the couch next to him. He did look up when he felt a slightly cold hand on his thigh, though, and found Corey leering at him. A month ago he may have found it mildly attractive, but now? Not so much. It was interesting how things could change so much so fast, Ian thought.  
  
“Maybe I can help you with that?” Corey murmured in a suggestive tone.  
  
Ian raised his eyebrows. “What, relaxing?” he asked. Corey rolled his eyes, which Ian took as a _yes, dumbass_.  
  
He mulled it over for a second. He may not be attracted to Corey, but he already knew it would be great sex and it would also take his mind off things and, well, relax him.  
  
“Yeah,” he breathed, leaning over the space between them to bring Corey into a kiss.  
  
It really wasn’t as nice as Ian thought it would be, or could have been. It got especially uncomfortable at one point, when Corey clung to Ian really hard and looked at him with an expression that told Ian he was about to say “I love you.” Ian kissed him to shut him up before the words could escape his mouth into the air between them.  
  
“Hey, Corey,” Ian said afterward, when they were lying side by side and his heart was starting to return to its normal pace, “I don’t think we should do this anymore.”  
  
He was lying close enough to feel Corey’s body stiffen, hear his breathing hitch. “Are you…” He paused, audibly swallowed. Sighed. “You’re rejecting me.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Ian murmured, turning onto his side so he could run his fingers across Corey’s shoulder. Corey pulled away, and Ian let his hand fall down onto the bed. “You’re an awesome friend and it’s not like I haven’t been enjoying this… agreement.”  
  
Corey rolled out of bed and started pulling his clothes on with quick, jerky movements. Ian watched him with a frown, feeling a little helpless. _So much for relaxing_ , he thought.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he repeated again, reaching out for his friend but only getting hold of air. “You’re just not my type.”  
  
“Did you meet someone?” Corey asked, completely ignoring Ian’s words. His voice was cold and hard.  
  
Ian inwardly winced. “No,” he said, and told himself it wasn’t a lie. He hadn’t met someone as much as unfortunately fallen for the wrong person: a person who was his client, therefore forbidden fruit, and probably also straight. The thought made him want to grimace, but he held it back.  
  
“Then why?” Corey turned to face him, and he looked angrier than Ian had ever seen him. They’d known each other for years, and Corey had always been pretty laidback. “Why can’t we continue this ‘ _agreement’_ and just not… do the other stuff?”  
  
The word “agreement” was spat with an impressive amount of contempt, and this time Ian did grimace. He wondered briefly if Corey would agree to be his friend after this. He hoped so, but he wouldn’t blame Corey if he wanted nothing to do with Ian after what he was about to say.  
  
“Because, even if you don’t believe me, you’re my friend and I care about you. Just not that way.”  
  
For a minute Corey just stood there, staring down at Ian with his hands clenched into fists by his side. Then he turned on his heels and stormed out of the room, without saying a word. Ian stared after him for a moment, a little shocked. Then he scrambled to follow, getting tangled in his sheets and almost falling over in the process.  
  
“Corey!” he called, coming into the hallway just as Corey was stepping into his shoes. “Corey, wait, come on. We can still be friends!”  
  
Corey seemed to be pretending as if Ian wasn’t there, yanking his jacket from its hook and pulling it on before he opened the door and exited Ian’s apartment. He slammed it shut behind him in what seemed to be a last message to Ian.  
  
Ian stood there, staring at the door, and heaved a deep sigh. Corey had pretty much been his only friend that wasn’t family. What a sad life he led, he thought.  
  
He wished there was something he could do, but he suspected that following Corey wasn’t such a great idea. Going back to bed and trying to sleep – in sheets that smelled of sex – wasn’t an idea that appealed to Ian a whole lot either, but it was getting late and he needed to sleep. He was probably tired on some level, if he just went to bed he’d fall asleep, he told himself.  
  
It turned out he was wrong. He spent the whole night tossing and turning, counting sheep and trying just about anything to make himself go to sleep. When he finally did fall asleep, he woke up barely two hours later, drenched in sweat after dreaming about getting caught in a tornado.   
  
By 5:36am, he gave up on sleep and moved to the living room to watch TV. It was better than lying in bed with thoughts that just barely made sense bouncing around in his head. Of course, he ended up falling asleep for a bit on the couch and waking up with a crick in his neck and an ache in his back.  
  
The first half of his Sunday passed incredibly slowly. He spent the time half-heartedly and distractedly going through Mickey’s case again and, at 8a.m., going grocery shopping. Ian thought he did pretty well with the shopping; he only got lost once and he only got two items he didn’t really need – and those items were condom and lube, which Ian thought could turn out to be useful anytime. What made the experience interesting, and quite a bit uncomfortable, was the teenage girl at the register who thought flirting with Ian was a good idea.  
  
At noon he got a text from Fiona, inviting him to dinner that evening. Apparently Debbie and Derek had now told everyone who needed to know their news, and they were going to have a family dinner to celebrate.  
  
He toyed a bit with the idea of calling Mickey, but eventually decided against it. He wanted to hear Mickey’s voice, wanted to tell Mickey about his nightmare and hear his thoughts on it. However, he soon came to the conclusion that this wasn’t the brightest idea. It wouldn’t surprise him if Mickey was still asleep, they weren’t close enough to have that kind of conversations yet and since Ian didn’t have any case-related news or info he needed to share with Mickey, it would likely be one very silent phone call. Either that or, even more likely, Mickey would yell at him before hanging up.  
  
The family celebration dinner was at 6:30pm, but Ian was there an hour early. Besides Ian, only Fiona, Lip and Liam were there. Ian hadn’t even known that Lip was in Chicago, but apparently he’d been there for a while now.   
  
If someone was to ask Ian, he’d probably say that Lip was the sibling he was closest to. Or had been in his mid- to late teens, anyway. They had grown apart quite a lot when Lip moved to Florida. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, the relationship Ian had with Lip was also the most strained out of his sibling relationships. Lip had always been jealous of Ian’s upbringing: Ian knew this, and he supposed it made sense. Ian was the lucky one who never had to get involved in any of the Southside’s shit, but who had done nothing to deserve it.  
  
Ian had found out that he had other siblings than Jacob in his mid-teens. This resulted in him rebelling against Clayton and Lucy for a while, angry that they’d never told him about Fiona, Lip and the others, and staying with his Southside siblings for a while. Lip had taken it as Ian being ungrateful and unable to see what luck he had born with, which strengthened his view of Ian as a spoiled Northside brat. Ian had never corrected him, mostly because he hadn’t realized this was Lip’s biggest problem with him until it was too late.  
  
“Hey, little bro,” Lip greeted him, hugging him and thumping his back. _Typical straight guy behavior_ , Ian thought with an internal eye roll even as he thumped Lip’s back in return. Old habits die hard. “What’s up? Heard you’re working a new case.”  
  
“Yeah,” Ian confirmed, pulling away from Lip and going to take a beer from the fridge. “Defending Mickey Milkovich.”  
  
Since he had his back turned to his brother, he didn’t see the look that crossed Lip’s face. If he had, maybe he would’ve been slightly uncomfortable. As it was, Lip was smiling when Ian turned to face him again, even if he looked a little puzzled.  
  
“Mickey Milkovich?” His tone was mocking, as if he thought Ian was joking or stupid. Possibly both. “Why’d you take his case? He deserves to go to jail.”  
  
Ian rolled his eyes, leaning against the fridge and glaring at Lip as he sipped from his beer bottle. “You’re an asshole, you know that? Why are you even here, Lip?”  
  
“Do you mean that as a genuine question or as I’m unwanted and unneeded?” Lip asked, raising his brows and still grinning at Ian.  
  
“No, I mean, why aren’t you in Florida,” Ian clarified, and Lip’s grin slipped off his face a little.  
  
He shrugged. “There was some business to take care of here,” he said, and Ian narrowed his eyes. There was something about Lip’s tone that made him instantly suspicious. He wasn’t lying, exactly, but he was definitely hiding something.  
  
“And?” he prompted. Lip glared, but Ian just raised his brows at him in a _do go on_ gesture.  
  
After a minute of intense staring, Lip sighed and broke eye contact. “Amanda and I got some… problems. She said she needed a bit of space.”  
  
“A bit of space?” Ian repeated. “So you decide to go across the entire fucking country?”  
  
Lip scoffed. “I had business to take care of, I told you that,” he muttered. Ian rolled his eyes, but ultimately decided to walk away. Arguing with Lip wasn’t worth it, especially not over some girl who deserved much better anyway.  
  
The rest of the night went smoothly, thankfully. Ian’s job wasn’t mentioned again, aside from a few thinly veiled snarky comments from Lip that everyone ignored.  
  
When Ian went home, it was with a good mood and a positive outlook on the next week.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Ian was not in such a good mood the next morning, when he showed up at Mickey’s apartment just before 7 and Mickey hadn’t even gotten out of bed. Or well, he had _now_ – after Ian had been pounding on the door for nearly five minutes. The result was one grumpy as fuck Mickey Milkovich, and one very annoyed Ian Gallagher.  
  
“You’re supposed to be at the police station for a hearing an hour from now,” Ian said as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him, maybe a little harder than necessary.  
  
Mickey raised his eyebrows in a _so_ sort of look, only fueling Ian’s annoyance. “And how long does it take to drive down to the station? Like, five minutes, tops?”  
  
“Pretty sure you’re not counting morning traffic into that,” Ian muttered, wishing he knew Mickey better so he could hit him upside the head without facing consequences.  
  
Mickey being a little shit was not, however, the only thing making Ian’s morning sour. He had sent a text to Jacob the night before, asking him to help with research on Jake Tanner, but he had yet to receive a response. And he knew Jacob had seen it: iMessenger told Ian that the text had been delivered and open. Unless Jacob was waiting until he had something to reply, Ian was going to be quite pissed with his little brother.  
  
“Dude, if there’s morning traffic, we’ll run,” Mickey said as he poured himself some coffee. Black, Ian noted, probably matching his soul. “It’s not that fucking far.”  
  
He did have a point, but Ian refused to acknowledge it. Instead he glared at Mickey and took a seat at his kitchen table, ignoring Mickey’s affronted look as he did so.  
  
“Look, I don’t know when these murders were committed, but if you have an alibi for any of them – say so.” Ian was aware he was acting mildly unprofessionally, but he was not in the mood nor did he have the required energy to do better right now. Besides, Mickey hadn’t seemed to mind before, so Ian was certain he wouldn’t now either. “If there’s anything at all that could help you in this case, say it. I don’t care how private it is, you will open your mouth and you will say it. And if it’s the opposite, something that could help you get landed in jail, you keep your mouth shut.”  
  
Looking supremely unimpressed, Mickey took a sip of his coffee and raised one eyebrow in a perfect arch. If Ian didn’t have so many other things on his mind, he probably would have been jealous.  
  
“Are you saying I should withhold information? Isn’t that illegal?”  
  
Ian sighed. “Don’t make it more difficult for me than it already is,” he said, praying that Mickey would listen to him for once.  
  
Not that Mickey hadn’t listened to him before. Now that Ian thought about it, Mickey had actually done everything Ian had asked of him. Well, almost everything. He was way more closed-off than Ian would’ve liked, but he supposed he couldn’t force someone to share details they regarded as private. But Mickey had answered the questions Ian asked him, he hadn’t said anything that could cause trouble for him, he had cooperated with Ian. He just did it all very reluctantly, a bit like a stubborn ass.  
  
Mickey just shrugged, looking away from Ian as he sipped his coffee. Ian thought he did it sort of pointedly, but it was possible he was projecting his own annoyance.  
  
“It’s not like I gotta be all fancy, like for the court hearing, right?” Mickey asked after a moment. He looked at Ian’s suit as he said it, nose just barely scrunched in mild distaste.  
  
Why Mickey hated suits so much, Ian would pay good money to find out. “No,” he said. “You just have to be there. Look alive, preferably.”  
  
Mickey snorted at that, nodding. “Yeah…”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

When they got to the station, they were met by an exceptionally grumpy-looking Holden. Even his partner, Dominik Stanton, looked quite grumpy. Or maybe not grumpy exactly, Ian thought as he studied the slightly younger policeman’s face closer, but very serious.  
  
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Stanton greeted, in a way that belied the serious looks on his and Holden’s faces. Ian only just managed to hold back a grimace. “This way, if you please.”  
  
Mickey heaved a deep sigh as he followed Ian and the policemen into an interrogation room. Ian could only agree with him. This was so far from what he wanted to be doing at 8am, but here they were.  
  
The interrogation room was, like Ian had expected, and probably Mickey too, small. Small and dark with walls of brick and a small, metal table in the middle with two chairs on either side. There was the typical two-way mirror, but no camera from what Ian could see.  
   
“To start off with, do you know why you’re here?” Officer Holden asked once they’d all sat down and made themselves comfortable, Ian and Mickey on one side of the table and Holden and Stanton on the other.  
  
“You think I killed more than one person,” Mickey muttered, glaring at Holden.  
  
It looked like Holden wanted to make a comment, but he swallowed it down. Ian was thankful. He definitely did not have the energy to deal with cop bullshit today.  
  
“As a matter of fact, we have found two more victims. One is Kenyatta Cheboi, the other is Elliott Price. Either of these names ring a bell?” Holden asked instead.  
  
Mickey shrugged. “Yeah, Kenyatta dated my sister for a while. Fucking abusive asshole,” he added under his breath, but Ian didn’t doubt that Holden and Stanton heard him. He wanted to hit Mickey across the back of his head. Muttering about one of the victims being an abusive asshole to his sister was not a good way to get people to believe that he was innocent. “But I have no idea who that Elliott dude is.”  
  
Holden made a thoughtful noise. “What were you doing on the 22nd of April, between six and 8pm? That’s a Wednesday.”  
  
“Eating dinner?” Mickey made a face. “I usually eat dinner at that time, unless I’m working.”  
  
“Is there anyone who can confirm this?” Holden asked. “Do you have an alibi?”  
  
Mickey raised an eyebrow. “Probably not. Aside from Jake I live alone, and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t home at the time. He disappears sometimes.”  
  
“Disappears?” Stanton butted in, and Mickey looked at him as if he was stupid.  
  
“Yeah. Disappears somewhere to drink and do drugs and god knows what. He usually comes back in a couple days.”  
  
Ian couldn’t help but be amused at Mickey’s flippant attitude, especially with the look now on Stanton’s face. He must be new, Ian thought, not only to this job but also to the Southside. Ian remembered all too well what it was like, suddenly being thrown into a world where alcohol and substance abuse was more or less the norm.  
  
“Hmm, well, what about Monday the 27th?” Holden continued, appearing mildly uncomfortable. “Between 1pm and 3.30pm.”  
  
This time, Mickey was silent for a moment. Ian thought he saw an odd look pass across his face, but then Mickey shrugged.  
  
“Don’t even remember, man, but I probably don’t have an alibi for that one either.”  
  
Ian got a feeling that Mickey was lying, and decided he’d have a Serious Talk with his client as soon as this hearing was over. Maybe even before that. He’d just decided he’d ask Holden and Stanton for a moment alone with his client when there was a knock on the interrogation room door.  
  
The door opened before anyone inside the room could react, and a middle-aged woman with frizzy brown hair stuck her head through the opening.  
  
“Officer Holden, Detective Stanton,” she greeted the two policemen, only nodding to Ian and Mickey, “could you come out here for a second?”  
  
As soon as the door to the interrogation room closed behind Holden and Stanton, Ian turned to face Mickey with a glare. “What was that?” he demanded, glaring even harder as Mickey looked up at him with wide eyes. “Don’t give me that innocent look, you know exactly what I mean.”  
  
Mickey’s wide eyes were replaced with a frown and he leaned back in his chair, fixing Ian with a hard gaze. “Actually, I don’t,” he said. “I don’t know what you mean, so there’s no reason for you to go off like that.”  
  
Sending a quick prayer for patience to the heavens, Ian ran a hand through his hair. He was sure Mickey would be the death of him, and for more than one reason.  
  
“Talking about what an abusive asshole Kenyatta was?” he reminded Mickey, looking at him with raised brows. A look of understanding dawned on Mickey’s face. “That doesn’t exactly put you in the best light.”  
  
Mickey stared him down for another moment before he sighed too and dragged a hand down his face. “You do have a point there,” he muttered under his breath, which made Ian think that it was probably hard for him to admit. “But it’s the truth. Fucker nearly beat my sister to death, and not just once either.”  
  
It wasn’t like Ian didn’t understand where Mickey was coming from – he did. If someone beat on Fiona or Debbie or even Lucy like that, he’d want them dead too. Actually, if anyone abused any of his siblings he’d probably want them dead. Even if it was Lip, who was an ass and had always insisted he could take care of and defend himself.  
  
“I get that he hurt someone you love,” Ian told Mickey, which earned him a surprised and disbelieving eyebrow, “but you need to keep that to yourself. At least while we’re in front of the cops, or in the court house, or anywhere else where someone with connections in the justice system can hear you. At home, rant as much as you want about it.”  
  
Mickey grunted out something Ian couldn’t decipher and leaned forward, resting his head in the cradle of his arms on the table. Ian watched him for a moment, observing his ruffled, dark hair and the line of his neck. Touching that neck was very tempting, but Ian opted to get out his trusty, flowery notebook instead.  
  
He hadn’t written a whole lot since that first meeting. He looked at the notes for a moment, smiling a little to himself before he flipped to the next page. There were a few scribbles about Mickey’s family, things he’d needed to ask Mickey, a reminder about the interrogation they were currently in. Other than that, the notebook was empty.  
  
Getting out a pen as well, Ian set it to the next empty page. _Two more victims_ , he wrote, writing down their names and dates of death underneath. It was quite clear what Kenyatta’s relation to Mickey was, as well as Mickey’s supposed motive – _sister’s boyfriend/abuser_ , Ian wrote. As for Elliott Price, Ian had no idea.  
  
He took the chance of reaching out and touching Mickey’s shoulder, making the other man jump. “What,” he groaned, sounding sleepy and annoyed. Ian supposed he couldn’t blame him. For someone who liked to sleep past noon, being at a police station at eight in the morning must be torture.  
  
“Do you know who Elliott Price is? I know you told Holden and Stanton you didn’t, but are you absolutely sure you have no idea?”  
  
_Whoa_ , Ian thought as Mickey glared at him, _if looks could kill_. “Yeah, Gallagher, I’m pretty sure I don’t know who the dude is.” He paused, and suddenly he looked thoughtful. Or as thoughtful as he could look while still glaring at Ian. “But I’m really shitty at remembering names. Maybe I _do_ know him, and just don’t remember his name.”  
  
Ian sighed. “Yeah, okay. I’ll ask Holden and Stanton if they have a picture or something,” he muttered. He added, “and I don’t think you really understand how serious I was about an alibi. An alibi right now would truly be a godsend,” before he let Mickey go back to his attempt at resting. It looked really uncomfortable for his neck and shoulders, and Ian briefly allowed himself to daydream about giving Mickey a massage.  
  
A few minutes later, Stanton and Holden re-entered the room. They looked even graver now than when Ian and Mickey arrived.  
  
Ian held up a hand to signal that he wanted to say something. “Before you give us the grievous news I’m sure you just received, I want to ask if you have any pictures of Elliott Price. My client says he might know who it is if he can see a picture.”  
  
Holden looked like he wanted to protest for a moment before he reached a hand out to Stanton, who gave him a manila folder. Ian hadn’t even noticed that he’d been holding one, and mentally berated himself for being so inattentive.  
  
“This is Elliott Price,” Holden said as he slid a picture across the table. Ian glanced at it and almost visibly flinched. That wasn’t a picture of Elliott Price: it was a picture of Elliott Price’s corpse.  
  
Mickey didn’t seem too comfortable either. “Yeah,” he got out between gritted teeth, looking away from the picture, “got anything where he’s a little more, y’know, alive?”  
  
It seemed like Holden was almost enjoying this as he put the picture back in its folder and took out another one. “There, that better?”  
  
It looked like a standard ID photo. Elliott Price looked to be in his early thirties, with brown hair and brown eyes. He was so… plain. Ian honestly had no idea what he had expected, but it wasn’t this. It was mildly anticlimactic. At that, Ian discreetly pinched his own thigh to get himself out of the ridiculous train of thought.  
  
“Hey, I do know this guy,” Mickey said after a minute. “We met once, for like… twenty minutes? I have no idea why I’d want him dead.”  
  
Ian almost laughed. Judging by Stanton and Holden’s faces, Ian wasn’t alone in correctly interpreting Mickey’s words as “you’ll have a problem making up a motive for this one.” In some odd, roundabout way, Ian almost felt proud.  
  
“I’m sure you had your reasons,” Stanton said lightly, reaching out to put the picture back in its manila folder. “Now, about why our colleague called us out earlier…”  
  
“We do have ‘grievous news’,” Holden confirmed Ian’s suspicions, making air quotes with his fingers. “It would seem that we got a letter this morning, containing information about the murders. I will not tell you exactly what it said, but briefly the writer confessed to being the murderer, said he’s proud and regrets nothing, etcetera etcetera – it was signed ‘the Loch Ness Killer’.”  
  
As a cold feeling slowly spread throughout his body, Ian just stared at Holden’s face. He didn’t even blink. On one hand, this felt a little bit ridiculous. Who would write a letter and sign it “the Loch Ness Killer”? Why Loch Ness? Loch Ness was a goddamn sea monster. Did shit like this actually happen? Ian had always thought it only happened in the movies. And “killer”? Not even killers in the movies actually called themselves “killer.” They just called themselves something artsy and mildly terrifying. This was neither artsy nor terrifying.  
  
Mickey was the first to get his bearings back. “I’m sorry… A letter?” he asked, sounding as surprised as Ian.  
  
“From the Loch Ness killer, yes,” Holden nodded. “Do you know what Loch Ness is?”  
  
Mickey seemed unable to help the huff that escaped him. “Of course I know what Loch Ness is! Who doesn’t know what Loch Ness is? A goddamn uncultured swine, that’s what!”  
  
Now Ian was no longer staring at Holden, but staring at Mickey. In his peripheral vision, he could see that Holden and Stanton were staring at Mickey too. It seemed like all of them had been equally unprepared for Mickey’s sudden outburst.  
  
“So, you’re into Loch Ness?” Holden asked after a moment of silence.  
  
Mickey seemed to realize his misstep and sighed, immediately going back to his casual self. He shrugged. “I guess I am.”  
  
Holden narrowed his eyes. Ian suppressed a sigh. In the momentary silence, Mickey seemed to realize that he’d just made himself look more suspicious. _Again_.  
  
It looked like Holden was about to say something else, but kept his mouth shut when the look on Mickey’s face turned contemplative. They all waited with baited breath as Mickey opened his mouth to say something, hesitated, but then seemed to steel himself.  
  
“I do have an alibi for April 27 th,” he said, so quietly it was almost inaudible. Ian had to concentrate on not letting his jaw drop for a moment.  
  
“You do?” Holden asked. No matter how much he tried to hide it there was an obvious tone of taunting in his voice, like he didn’t believe what Mickey was saying.  
  
In response to the subtle taunting, Mickey defiantly raised his head and stared Holden square in the eye.   
  
“Yeah,” he said, “my son. Yevgeny Milkovich.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you should come talk to me on [tumblr](http://cockslutovich.tumblr.com/)!!

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tag for this au](http://cockslutovich.tumblr.com/tagged/lawyer-au) on my tumblr, where you will find "extramaterial", like edits, small spoilers about the characters and excerpts from the next chapter.
> 
> I'm also really excited about this story, so kudos and comments and all such things will make me very happy :)


End file.
